Ria
by DeviantWriter2015
Summary: Sequel to Marital Spat. Astoria "Ria" Potter didn't know when the idea was first planted. She couldn't say when she had crossed the line, unable to come back. All she could say, was at the end she became a dark wizard. Perhaps the worst that the wizarding world would ever know.
1. Albus' Dream

[1]

In it, he was a knight.

He was clad in heavy armor. He was a grownup and it didn't weigh him down. Looking down, he saw that his armor didn't have the red and gold trim of his father's house, but the green and silver of his mother's.

He had a round shield in his left hand and a shining blade in his right. He was within a deep forest. It was midnight but the full moon above ensured it was not really dark.

There were monsters in the woods in front of him. They slowly came out from the trees, shrouded in dark robes. Their faces were silver and demonic. They raised arms that did not end in hands, but in jagged spikes.

They roared their incantations in deep, guttural voices. Sick, green light flickered this way and that.

He raised his magic shield. The dark magic bounced off it with a deep, echoing sound. The bolts moved back towards their sources, striking a tree which immediately caught fire, and striking a monster whom fell down and did not move.

He raised his sword. "Stupefy!" he cried out in a booming voice. The monsters shrank from it, but did not retreat.

The sword began to pulse with incredible red light. He swept it in a savage arc that left an afterimage in the eye. The red light in the sword became a red tidal wave across the ground, moving from the clearing to the line of trees in a split-second.

The monsters were thrown back, as though from a monstrous gale, screaming their awful, guttural sounds. They flew between the trees, they crashed into the trees.

Then there was silence and stillness.

He moved through the trees, unafraid. He soon entered another clearing. Four stone tables were in the center of it.

And there they were! His family!

"Daddy!" he cried, and now his voice didn't sound like that of a grownup. He sounded like his normal self.

He made his way to them. His feet made a tremendously loud sound on the ground, which was shaking with the violent force of them.

He reached the stone tables. His father was lying on the left, his big sis on the right. The one closest to him had his jackass of a brother.

The fourth one was empty. Someone was supposed to be there, but for the life of him he couldn't remember who.

They were not asleep. Their eyes were open. They stared at him. Their limbs were frozen, their jaws clenching soundlessly. A Body-Bind Curse. Probably from the monsters. But he'd taken care of them.

"Don't worry, Daddy." he said. "I'll get us out of here."

But looking around, he wasn't sure how he would do that. He realized he knew neither the counter-curse for Body Bind or the Levitating Charm.

And actually...the open field wasn't empty anymore. Instead of bare grass, there were other paralyzed people on the ground. People he knew, people he didn't, all of them just as frozen as his family.

"I'll get out you all out of here." he cried out. "I will."

Something occurred to him then. When he was walking through the field, there had been a enormous, echoing footstep sound. Except he wasn't walking anymore and he could still hear it. Which meant it wasn't coming from him.

He looked at the trees, which were now so impossibly tall that the sky was nearly covered. Only the moon was visible.

There was the rustle and thick snap of trees exploding. Before his eyes, a gigantic foot completely flattened a tree in distance.

Wide-eyed, he looked up.

In the thick foliage of the tree canopy, a massive eye blinked down at him. Under it, an equally massive hand emerged from between two trees; then a second one. The hands pushed against the trees they came between, knocking them over.

The giant stepped into the clearing. It was sixty feet tall and had a sizeable belly, arms drooping down to the knees. It eyes were green and yellow. It had a full, white beard. He looked like a Santa Claus deprived of the joy of Christmas.

To his left, another giant appeared, even taller than the first and skeletal. Another to his right, shorter and stubbier.

They moved towards into the clearing. He watched as each of the giants picked up a paralyzed person off the ground and stretched their jaws open.

"No!" he roared, and raised his weapon. It was no longer a sword but a thin, flimsy-looking wand; and the stunning spell it fired was tiny and dim.

It struck the short giant and did absolutely nothing. The giant raised the paralyzed body to its mouth—

"Stop!" he roared.

—and ate the victim whole.

Screaming, crying, he fired a spell at the pot-bellied giant. The sizeable gut rippled as the spell bounced harmlessly away. The giant then ate a young blonde woman.

"Damn it!" he spun and fired a spell at the tall one. The taller giant had already eaten its first victim and was walking steadily towards the stone table in the center. Its brown hair fell down past its shoulders.

"No!" he cried out, and move between the giant and the tables.

Across the ground, some people were losing some of their paralysis. Not enough to move, but enough to scream. And then the screams were abruptly cut off as they were eaten.

He stayed close to the table, firing stunning spells at the other two giants even though he knew it wasn't really helping. They ate five more people.

And more giants were coming into the clearing. Before he knew it he was surrounded on all sides by a dozen of them.

"Damn!" he said, and turned to the tall one bearing down on him. The stunning spell struck it in its shadowed head. It didn't even flinch. One massive hand swept down, he ducked, but the shadow of it didn't fall over him.

He looked left in time to see the immense hand pluck his father from the stone table.

"No!" he shrieked. "Let go of him!"

All around him, people were screaming. People were dying.

He raised his wand. He had no choice. He would have to use dark magic, the UNFORGIVABLE CURSES.

"Avada—"

That was as far as he got. Because the moon had changed or the world had become brighter or maybe just enough of the dark-brown hair had moved out of its face. Because the face of the tallest giant was no longer blocked.

Its face was slender, with grey-green eyes and a nose that was long without being blade-like.

And it was oh so familiar.

And then his father was consumed right in front of him.

[2]

Albus Potter woke up screaming.

He tumbled out of his bed and hit the floor with his shoulder.

There was swearing in the dark and ruffling. The sound of muffled footsteps approaching.

"Lumos." came a slightly older voice, and then the room was filled with a meager but warm white light.

Albus saw he was staring at the bed leg. Then he rolled over.

His brother James was sitting up in his bed with his wand held up in front of his face.

"I really need my own bedroom." James said. He was groggy and more than a little annoyed.

The door opened and the figure was in shadow, tall and lanky.

Albus' eyes widened.

It's the giant!

But it wasn't. It came into the room and it was just his mother. Astoria Potter had brown hair that was nearly black, she wore her green night robe—House colors—and held her wand.

"What's going on?" she asked, but there was no surprise or fear in her voice. This kind of thing with Al wasn't extremely common but common enough. A few times every few months. The wand was just living by the rule of "better safe than sorry."

"It's Al again." James said.

"Go back to bed James." she said.

"I'll try." he whined. "Let's see how long it lasts."

He laid down and rolled over.

"Little Al needs a nightlight." he said. "Don't you think so Mom?"

"I think you should shut yourself up James." she said, "Before I do it for you."

She said it with a tone of voice that made James Potter II do exactly that. When she got like that, even muttering wasn't safe (and usually was even worse than yelling).

When James turned off his wand, their mother lit her own. She knelt beside her son on the bed.

"What was it this time, Al?"

Albus told her as much as he could. She almost seemed entertained by the heroic beginning. When he got closer to the end, and talked about the giants, his mother didn't seem particularly worried.

When it was done, she said nothing at first. She looked at him and he looked at her. Her eyes were grey-green eyes and her nose was big without being blade-like. He blinked and in the brief darkness he saw the tall giant with its familiar face.

"You okay, sweetie?" she asked. "Do you think you can go to bed now?"

He nodded, having no idea if he really could or not.

She kissed him on the forehead, always made him feel embarrassed even when nobody was around. Then she stood up to go.

"Mommy?"

She stopped, turned. "Yes, sweetie?"

"You...you would never hurt Daddy, would you?"

He thought she would be totally confused. Maybe even a little bit angry. Maybe even a lot angry. Albus would have preferred it that way. It was a stupid thought and he wanted to be told that.

But when his mother looked at him, her face was wooden. It was like he asked her about the weather outside.

"Hurt...Daddy? No, of course not. Don't be silly."

And he was waiting for her to start asking questions. A lot of questions. Why do you say that? What are you talking about? Did you hear us arguing? Did you watch Kill Bill after I specifically told you that you couldn't?

But there were no questions at all.

"Good night sweetie. Good dreams, okay?"

"Okay. Good night Mommy."

Now she smiled. But the smile was too wide. It showed her sharp teeth. He pictured them biting into something that was screaming and trying to wrestle away. He was frightened again, but didn't let it show on his face.

She left. The door was closed. He was in darkness again. He didn't like the dark. The way it seemed to move and shift. Like it was alive.

But sometimes the dark was good too. Sometimes the light revealed something standing next to you; something you would prefer to never see.

After a while, James' voice:

"You're a fruitcake, Al."

"Eat shit, James."

[3]

Eventually, he did fall asleep again. And he dreamed again.

And this one was better, because Scorpius Malfoy was in it.


	2. Night Thoughts

Night Thoughts

[1]

When Albus screamed, Ria was the one to enter his bedroom.

When she came back out, her husband wasn't in the master bedroom. Every time something like this happened, he took a guarded stroll around the house. He didn't say, but she thought he was worried Albus' dreams were possibly warnings of something else happening. This had nothing to do with horcruxes or scars or visions, but was something even more fundamental than that. He called them "telephone calls from nowhere."

She found him in the living room, peering through one of the windows. As she watched, he moved to another one, and peered through that too.

At first she thought he wasn't aware of her. Then: "Ria."

"Yes Harry?"

"Another nightmare?"

"Yeah. The third one this month"

He moved away from the door. "My turn next time."

"If you want." Ria said. "I don't mind doing it again."

He looked at her with false hurt. "You always let me have a turn."

She made a face at him. "Maybe I don't want to anymore. Maybe I've become a possessive shrew."

Harry puts his hands to his chest, as if struck with a bullet. "After all these years?"

She swept her hands dramatically. "I shall have all the kids. I shall have all the kittens. I shall have all the pies."

They shared light-hearted laughter and went back to bed. Once under the covers, they kissed, then snuggled.

"Delphi didn't mail us today." he said.

"She forgets, Harry."

"Well, she needs to remember." Harry said shortly. "Every Monday. That's what she promised."

"That's what you made her promise."

"I know." he said. He supposed something a comment like that would make other fathers feel guilty but not him. She was his firstborn.

"I know you worry about her." Ria said.

"Of course I do." he said. "Delphi's constantly getting into fights and I don't like that."

"She believes in equality. She's fighting bullies Harry. She's Hufflepuff. That's what they do."

"She needs to learn that it's not just up to her to fight bullies alone."

"I did that too, remember?"

"Yes, dear, I do. But Hogwarts was different back then. Nowadays calling someone a 'mudblood' is a month of detention. I talked to Minerva and made sure of that. But instead of telling a teacher or her headmaster, Delphi just takes matters into her own hands."

Ria frowned and said nothing.

[2]

 _When Ria walked into the headmistress' office, she was alone. Minerva McGonagall had wanted to speak with both parents; that way there would be no chance of anything being lost in translation from one ear to another. But Harry was away._

 _There were four ornate chairs in front of the large desk. McGonagall sat on the far side of it with a stack of papers in front of her._

 _The left seat was empty. Ria went to it and sat down without a word. She did spare a glance to the right. On the far seat was a plump and irate looking woman with a head of grey hair._

 _The third seat had a girl about her daughter's age, maybe a year or two older. She was Tracie Turngate. She had to be. She fit the description in Delphi's angry letters—at least the special ones that she sent to Ria: blonde hair, blue eyes, quite big for her age. Her uniform—they'd gotten rid of the robes and had more traditional school uniforms—had red trim and the lion on it. Uh-oh._

 _Ria's own daughter sat in the second seat. Delphi Potter had a relatively plain face that she wasn't very proud of. She timidly asked Harry one day if she could start wearing makeup. It was one of the few times Harry had seen her timid about anything. He hadn't gotten angry. Not even a little bit, which Ria had expected. He had just laughed at her, which Delphi told Ria was actually worse. Like she was an idiot. Her hair was as brown as her mother's, and as short and messy as her father's._

 _She had a swollen lip and a bandage on her. Some blood had gotten on a piece of the yellow trim and made it the color of puke. The badger was unblemished. Whether the blood was hers or Tracie's remained to be seen. Other than that she looked fine._

 _The same couldn't be said for this girl who was probably Tracie. She didn't know how much time Pomfrey had with her before McGonagall called her in, but it wasn't enough. Her nose had been broken and had a bandage around it to stop the bleeding. Both eyes were faded black and she had bruises all over her face and both lips were still noticeably swelled._

" _Good afternoon, Mrs. Potter." McGonagall said. "I take it you received my Howler."_

" _Yes headmistress."_

 _It was funny to say that word, at least in association with McGonagall._

" _I was hoping you would have notified Mr. Potter."_

" _My husband is on assignment in Ireland."_

" _Pity, that. I trust that you will inform him of your daughter's actions when he returns?"_

" _I will indeed." Ria turned to face her daughter, whom stared straight ahead. "And I can guarantee you he will not be pleased about this."_

" _Now to the matter at hand. Ms. Potter and Ms. Turngate had an altercation in near the lake and—"_

" _She beat the shit out of my precious angel!" the mother shrieked._

" _Mrs. Turngate, I will ask that you do not use vulgarity in this office."_

" _I'll tell you how this so-called 'fight' started." Mrs. Turngate said through clenched teeth. "My angel was sitting down by that tree, minding her own damn business, when your little harpy came up to her and said that my daughter looks like Rita Skeeter...in a negative way."_

" _Who's Rita Skeeter?" Ria asked innocently._

" _YOU KNOW WHO RITA SKEETER IS!"_

" _Sharon!" McGonagall yelled suddenly, making them all jump. "Control your volume or I have you removed from this office!"_

 _Awkward silence._

 _After that Sharon Turngate gave the rest of her story...which was exactly that. The precious Tracie was frolicking daintily, eating her curds and whey, and Delphi the brat, took up a bat and smashed her right in the face._

 _Ria didn't think she'd be able to stomach it, but stomach it she did._

" _Is that true?" she asked finally._

" _No ma'am." Delphi said._

" _Spare me the 'ma'am' crap Delphini."_

" _No, mom, it isn't true."_

 _Sharon Turngate looked offended. She tensed up and Ria put her hand on her wand._

" _What so I'm a liar now?! Is that it?! Is that what you're saying you little—"_

" _No." Delphi said, and somehow her calm voice cut right through Sharon's shrill ranting and could be heard clearly. "You aren't lying. But Tracie is."_

 _Mrs. Turngate couldn't form words. Her mouth flexed uselessly._

" _I...you...dare...what..."_

 _Delphi's voice was rock steady: "And that's a real shame."_

 _Then she sighed, as if show how shameful it was._

" _Because a_ good _daughter wouldn't lie to her mother."_

 _At that Sharon Turngate stood up, her face strangely blank. Ria stood up. The former's wand came out. McGonagall wordlessly disarmed her. Ria was too slow on the draw, but it didn't matter, because she was disarmed too._

 _McGonagall let Mrs. Turngate know the Aurors would be notified of her drawing a wand on a child. Turngate sobbed loudly, making Ria roll her eyes._

 _When that was done Delphi gave her side of the story._

" _What really happened?" Ria asked. They were outside now. "You've told me the whole truth?"_

" _It's like I said mom." Delphi said._

" _It_ better _be." Ria said quietly._

 _Delphi dropped her gaze._

 _"It_ is _true. Tracie called Dayako a m-m...a mud—"_

She couldn't finish the sentence. Nor should she have. Gryffindors like Tracie were supposed to know better.

" _Then what did she do?"_

 _She already knew the summary as McGonagall had already talked to kids who had witnessed it. But Ria wanted her daughter's words. All of them._

" _She started beating Dayako up." Delphi's face was a miserable grimace. "Dayako was crying at first. Then she was screaming. And that fat bitch just kept doing it."_

 _Tears ran down her daughter's face and Ria remarked at how young she looked when she cried. She was thirteen years old but now she seemed like an infant—innocent and unknowing, with tears and screaming as her only defense against an alien world._

" _I fucking hate her." Delphi wiped her face._

" _Watch your mouth." Ria said, glancing around to see if anyone had heard. It seemed like nobody had, so she really didn't care._

 _Delphi stared up at her, jaw clenched, nose flaring. Now her gaze didn't waver at all. It might have been a challenge. But it wasn't. It was expectation._

" _This won't last forever." Ria said._

" _You promise?" Delphi asked._

" _Remember what I said?"_

" _The Muggle-borns..."_

" _Yes."_

" _They are the key to helping the Muggles."_

" _Yes."_

" _They are the bridge." Delphi said. Her sobbing had dried up._

" _To what?"_

" _Magic for everyone."_

 _A playful smile spread across Ria's face. "You mean not just the people of England? Or Sweden?"_

 _Delphi shook her head._

 _Delphi shook her head. She was smirking faintly now._

" _Or Narnia or Yuktobania or Silent Hill?"_

" _Nope!" Delphi said began to giggle. Ria thought there was no sight on the planet as lovely as her daughter smiling. "Everyone!"_

" _And why is that?" Ria asked._

" _Because_ everyone _can do magic!"_

 _Ria hugged her._

[3]

Of course, she'd still had to tell Harry. Tell him how pissed off she was at Delphi's behavior. Ria had punished her accordingly, in front of Harry. But Delphi hadn't cried much at all during that. Ria was so proud of her.

Now in the bedroom Harry said: "I'm worried about James too. He's got a mean streak and I don't like that either."

"Your father had a mean streak too." Ria objected. "He got better."

"I know, and so did Draco and Blaise. But Goyle and Crabbe, they didn't."

"Their parents were complete assholes."

A soft sigh from Harry.

"What I'm trying to say, Ria, is we need to watch him. I sometimes wonder if that boy thinks he's better than other people just because he's James Potter. He isn't. He needs to figure that out sooner rather than later."

"I agree." Ria said, her voice suddenly cold. "He picks on Al a lot and I don't like _that._ "

"That reminds me, what did Al dream about? Did he say?"

"No."

"He didn't say anything?"

"Nothing at all. He went right back to sleep. He probably doesn't even remember what it was about."

There was long pause. Much too long.

He didn't believe her.

After all this. Everything they'd been through. Everything they'd done for each other. After the dates. After ten years of marriage and three kids he still didn't believe her when she said something.

She wanted to jump from the bed, snatch her wand off the stand and start cursing him before he could even react.

Then her anger subsided, replaced by confusion and disgust.

This anger...

... _where_ did it come from? Why was it always so close even after all these years with him?

Then, Harry's voice, a whisper: "I hope he gets better."

"He will."

"Night, Ria."

"Night, Harry."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

But she was just mouthing the words. He put his arms around her, as he always did when she wasn't sick—then she wouldn't let him—and that made her feel better, but not much. She felt guilty.

Time spun out away from her. She laid awake in the dark.

She was thinking of things.

 _(who are you what is this place)_

She was thinking of a lot of things.

 _(you would never hurt daddy would you)_

Eventually, she heard the light snoring of her husband. He unconsciously snuggled closer to her, and she felt a rush of warmth. Because she did love him. He was sweet and honest and cared about justice. That made keeping secrets from him so difficult. Because she cared about justice too.

Astoria Potter wondered how that experiment was going.

She would check tomorrow.

[4]

Delphi dreamed that night too. Hers was not as vivid, nor did she remember anything about it at all the next day. But as she slept, her hands shifted across her torso, her fists closing and opening; as if she was struggling against demons that had already seized her forever.

[5]

The Third Wizarding War was only four years away.


	3. Pinky Promise

Pinky Promise

[1]

He hadn't meant any harm really.

He just wanted to have some fun.

Video games were pretty damn fun. Well...video _game_ rather, since he only had one. His Nintendo DS had one game for it and that was Castlevania: Aria of Sorrow, which he knew as Game Boy Advance and not DS because the GBA game carts were much thicker.

He counted himself lucky he had _that_ much. The DS wasn't technically his to begin with. He'd nicked it from one of the neighbor's kids. A big, dumb brat named Thomas Barty. He played it after bedtime, but only until he was absolutely sure that his nose-wipe of a brother was asleep. He always knew when he was, because the nose-wipe was always tossing and turning. Always having nightmares. Like a baby.

But Aria of Sorrow was really fun. Especially on Hard Mode. And it was always really cool watching Soma Cruz get all these different spells from the monsters he was killing. It was even cooler when you got further into the game and you stumbled across your first magic weapon. There was fire and ice and lighting. There were even dark weapons, like Death's Scythe, and dark spells like Legion's lasers; but those weren't so good because like half of the enemies in the castle were undead zombies and skeletons and they didn't take much damage from darkness. It was the same thing with demons. The final boss, Chaos, was dark-based too.

The Holy element—now _that_ was good. The Ronginus Spear and Mystletain and especially Claimh Solais.

So the take away? Magic was great. Magic was awesome.

And so of course James had asked his parents for a wand before he would be shipped off to Hogwarts. Kids weren't really supposed to have wands or use magic before schooling. But James wasn't a kid. He was ten for goodness sake. As far as he was concerned, he was an adult. An adult who ate marshmallows right out of the bag and went over to Bobby's house to watch Samurai Jack on Toonami.

His mother—being a mother—was of course a total killjoy. If "fun" was a person, she would have killed it in its sleep. But dad had seen things his way, thankfully, and so now he had a wand.

[2]

His dad had even taught him a few spells. _Wingardium Leviosa_ was hard at first, but he got the hang of it. It was all about swishing and flicking the shit out of your wrist but not being too crazy about it.

"Remember James." his dad had said. "A wand is a tool. Not a toy."

But James was too busy waving his wand through the air. It made little fireworks pop off the end. It was really cool.

"James."

He looked at his dad. He was smiling, but in a way that let James know he was slowly getting pissed off with his antics.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Uh...yes?"

They were in the living room and it was the evening. Albus was sick in bed. Ria was out late helping Daphne over at Othello's. She had to now that Cassio's health was failing.

"Then what did I say?"

"Something about root beer?"

His dad grinned. "You want a wet willy?"

"No!" James cried in mock fear.

"Then listen up, kiddo." His dad's grin was gone. He was serious now.

And James had to be too. "Okay."

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I want to catch bad guys like you."

He thought that would make his dad smile. It didn't. His dad looked a bit scary. Not as scary as his mom. His mom was scary in a way that James couldn't describe. Not yet.

"Well James, what do you think those bad guys are using to hurt people?"

James looked confused. "A wand right? All wizards and witches have wands."

"Right, kiddo. A wand can do lots of terrible things. I've seen people get covered in stinging welts. I've seen people get cuts opened up on their bodies. I've seen people crippled with pain. I've seen people get their minds taken over."

He said the next words with great effort, to the point where even James was able to notice.

"I've seen people killed, James. I've seen a man—a brave man—killed right in front of me."

"I'm sorry."

It was the only thing James could say.

Harry withdrew his own wand. James couldn't remember what kind of wood it was (wood was boring) but it had a phoenix hair...or feather...or whatever, for its core.

James' wand had dragon heartstring from a Hungarian horntail, which was really cool. Dragons were cool.

"I don't want to teach you any combat spells, yet," his dad said, "Except for two."

"Which?" James asked.

"The first is Expelliarmus." his dad said. "If someone tries to attack you, knock the wand out of their hands."

James was shown the wand movement for it.

Then his dad moved some distance away and faced his son. He raised his own wand to eye-level but kept it pointed at the ceiling.

"Try it"

Wand at eye-level James hesitated. He didn't know why.

"Come on James. Don't worry, it won't hurt me."

No, James knew it wouldn't, yet every inch of his body felt that it was wrong. Why should a kid point a wand at his parent?

"Expelliarmus."

A sphere of orange light shot towards him. James aimed the spell for his hand, hoping to hit the wand.

His dad leaned far to the left. The spell didn't even graze his shoulder. It struck the far wall, shaking the family photo above the fireplace.

"Excellent cast, James." his dad said. But in spite of the compliment, he wasn't smiling. "But why didn't you aim it at my chest or stomach?"

"Well—I—" James stammered.

His dad stared at him, face calm.

"I thought you wanted me to knock your wand away." James finally said.

"I _do._ James, what's the name of the spell?"

"The Disarming Charm."

"That is correct. The Disarming Charm." his dad said. "Not the Disarming-Charm-that-only-works-when-you-hit-the-hand."

James finally got it. "Oh."

"When you aim at one of the extremities, the—"

"The what?"

"Extremities James. The hands and feet. When you aim at them, all the other guy has to do is move them ten centimeters in any direction. Their reflexes might not be good enough to move in time, but if you are fighting someone who's a good duelist, then that probably won't be the case."

He pointed at his chest, "Aim here," then at his stomach, "Or here. That way the person will have to move his whole body out of the way. Or block it with a Shield Charm. When they block it with a Shield Charm. And when they are blocking, James, what are they _not_ doing?"

"Attacking." James said immediately.

Now his dad _was_ smiling. And that made him smile too.

"Good boy! Now try again."

[3]

Two days after Harry's lesson, Albus was in good health.

Since both parents worked, James and Albus were alone that day. Mom had wanted to leave them at the Burrow. Godmom Molly loved having kids over. James actually would have preferred it. He could go around and do what he wanted while gran pinched Al's cheeks right off his face.

But godmom and goddad were vacationing over in Egypt. And all of their parents' friends had regular 9 to 5 jobs.

It sucked. Looking after Al totally sucked. Not because he would wander around, but because he didn't. He did nothing but stay in his room reading books.

James loved to wander around. At age 5 he'd snuck into a neighbor's house after bedtime. At age 7, he'd gone all the way into a completely different city. He'd wound up next to a man without a home. He'd had a guitar and played, like, five different songs just for James.

It drove his parents up the wall, but oh well. He wanted to go out and see things. But his mother said if he kept on doing it, both she and dad would agree not to send him to Hogwarts. He'd have to go work at an onion factory instead.

"Do they even have those?" James had asked with a raised eyebrow. "That sounds so 19th century."

"Do you want to find out?" mom had answered back.

Truth be told, he did not, so he had decided to cool it.

Now, he was making a sandwich for the nose-wipe. James didn't like making food for other people. Making food was something parents did for kids. He especially didn't like making food for Al because Al was a nose-wipe and he sucked.

What made it worse is that Al _could_ make his own food. In fact he probably knew more about cooking than James did. One time James had been on the toilet, taking his sweet time because he was looking at one of the underwear catalogue's mom had throughout the house.

Before he knew what was going on, there was a female scream from downstairs.

He put his pants back up and went, thinking that perhaps there was a robber. A female robber surprised by Albus just sitting on the couch and reading and doing absolutely nothing.

As he went downstairs, he realized the temp of the house was really damn hot. It had been chilly when he went into the bathroom.

The noise and crap was coming from the kitchen. When he went in there, what he saw could've been a still photo. She'd dropped all the groceries she'd been holding. Ice cream and apples and a two liter of soda was splattered all across the floor, much of it soaking mom's pants.

Albus was standing by the oven. The door was open and he bent as if to peer into it, but his head was turned and he was facing mom instead and his eyes were about as big as dinner plates. From the smell of things, he was trying to make blueberry muffins, which were only the most amazing thing ever.

Mom screamed. Then she paddled Albus, which made James laugh. The nose-wipe went up the stairs, crying, apologizing. James kept laughing.

Then mom turned to him.

"You were supposed to be watching him." was all she said. Her voice was calm, which meant she was worse than upset. There was no fighting back or arguing against what happened next.

His ass still hurt with the unfair memory of it. Mom had been in tears when she was done.

And mom had let them eat the muffins anyway.

It made him so angry he wanted to spit in the sandwich he just made for him. But that kind of thing is really gross, and he didn't hate his brother _that_ much.

"Al!" he called. "Soups on!"

He had no idea why he said something like that, since this obviously wasn't soup. But his dad said it whenever he cooked food and that was good enough for him.

No answer from the living room. Al had been there last he checked.

"Al!" he called again. And again no answer.

"Damn it, Al." he grunted. James put the hot sandwich at the kitchen table and went to go look for him. He opened the front door. Al wasn't outside. Duh. He wasn't in the living room either.

All that left was the bedroom James unfortunately shared with him.

He opened the door and the little nose-wipe was sitting on his bed, holding James Nintendo DS like he owned the thing. He wasn't even supposed to know about it.

James saw red.

[4]

When Ria came home from Othello's, the TV in the living room was on. It was Shakespeare, specifically. In it, three witches were faffing about with a cauldron.

" _By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."_

Ria stopped. She heard something.

Crying.

It was faint at first. Faint enough for her to wonder if that whole "descent into madness" thing was already starting.

"Jim?" she asked. "Al?"

But she said it quietly, not really sure as to why.

The sound was coming stronger from the stairs. She stepped up them quietly. She was good at being quiet. She didn't call out anyone's name

The bedroom door was wide open. The crying was much louder now.

She walked through.

James had his wand out. He was pointing it at Al, who was floating three meters off the ground. James was yelling angrily and Al was blubbering.

The feeling was like her blood being boiled without her consent. Her heart was hammering in her chest and her lungs felt like they wouldn't take any air. Her hands clenched into fists. Somewhere, in her mind, there was a large whistle going off.

 _(she was going down the hill 90 an hour when the whistle broke into a scream)_

She was able to make out the first two words the two of them said. James said "It's mine..." and Albus said "I'm sorry." After that, the rage took over, burning her ears, making their words hazy and indistinct.  
 _  
(she was found in the wreck with her hand on the throttle)_

She tried to form words, but they wouldn't come. Her mouth moved soundlessly.

 _(she was scalded to death by the steam)_

Words came at last.  
"What are you doing?" she said softly.

James jumped into the air. It broke the spell and Albus fell flat on his face.

When James turned around. His face was fearful.

"Mom. Albus was—"

"Shut up."

James swallowed. His eyes were wide and he stood frozen. Albus was slowly picking himself off the floor, wiping his wet face.

"What were you doing?" she asked.

"Albus, he—"

"SHUT UP!" she screamed.

James flinched, dropping his wand. He didn't sob but already the waterworks were going on.

"I asked you James Sirius Potter, what _you_ were doing?"

No answer. They'd been through this shit so many times before. Al does something to piss him off, James lashes out and, and then every time he had to pay up, he wanted to talk about what Al had done. Mom, Al stole my textbook. Mom, Al threw a spitwad at me. Mom, Al told me to eat shit. Mom, Al voted for Donald Drumpf for King of America.

Ria didn't give a shit about what Al had said or done. If James ever _bothered_ telling her or Harry, they could deal with it and leave James alone. But no, James Potter was James Potter. And when he wiped his ass, the color on the paper was rainbow and sparkling.

"Since you seem to be a loss for words for once," Ria hissed. "Let me help you along. You were using spells on your little brother."

No answer, James was looking at the floor.

"You're an intelligent boy, James." Ria said. "Every time you hit Al, we paddled you for it. Every. Single. Time."

She punctuated the words by clapped her hands together and James flinched each time.

"I would think you would get the message eventually, right?"

No answer. Al was standing up now.

"I would _also_ think that some rules in this damn house would be implied."

She cocked her head at him. "Do you know what _implied_ means James?"

She thought he wouldn't answer. But he did: "I-it means w-w-when something guh-goes without s-s-saying."

She laughed, and even to her own ears it sounded frantic and insane. "That's right James! The Sorting Hat will put you into Ravenclaw for sure! So what's implied in this house? What 'goes without saying?' Well I can just start and finish with the most important one. _Never_ use spells on your brother! You know why? I'm going to show you."

She took out her wand.

The voice of her mother: _What are you doing, Astoria?_

"Mom, I—" Al started.

James was struck with the _Wingardium_ before his brother could finish the sentence. James was sent into the air. Not gently, like he'd done with Albus, but brutally. He was jerked up a good four meters, and then stopped abruptly.

 _Stop Astoria!_

James squealed like a piglet that had stepped on a nail. She waved the wand around. James jerked left and right, his arms pin-wheeling uselessly. Al was yelling something but his words were lost in the rage.

"Stop!" Al shouted.

Ria gave the wand a twirl. James began to flip through the air. James was crying. What right did he have to cry about anything? These people. All of them were the same. It didn't matter what they called themselves: Death Eaters, commies, Nazis. They were all a reflection of that sin which was as timeless as dust itself. The strong using their power to hurt the weak. But then the tables got turned and then they had the nerve to ask—even demand—mercy.

And now it was taking place in her own house and she would not stand for it. Not even for a second.

"Do you like it James?!" Ria asked. "Do you like it when someone is hurting you and there's _nothing_ you can do about it?! _Do you love it_?! Is it a 9 out of 10?!"

"Let me _go_!" James screamed. Snot ran down his face.

"Expelliarmus!" came a small, frightened voice. Ria's wand wasn't knocked out of her hand, but it dropped to the floor.

There was a meaty thud as James came crashing down.

She stared at the wand. She looked up.

Al had James' wand in both hands. Neither was steady and the wand jittered and jived like a divining rod. It didn't at all change the fact that he was aiming it directly at her. Tears ran down his face.

"Stop." Al said. It was all he was capable of saying.

James was a huddle mess on the floor. His bladder had completely let go and the warm, pungent smell of urine filled the room.

Seeing the miserable sight before her, Ria's immense rage had fled as if injured.

"Oh my God." she whispered. She looked around with wide, trapped eyes. "Oh my God, James!"

She went over and bent down. She reached out a hand. "Sweetie, I'm so—"

James shot up. "Get the hell from me!"

He raced past, almost knocking her down. He crashed into the bedroom door, smacking it open. He tripped and fell over.

"James stop!" she cried, and got up to her feet. She glanced at Albus, who had dropped the wand. He looked lost, confused, not at all knowing where he actually was.

[5]

She lost track of him for ten heart-stopping minutes.

But he was just in the shed in the backyard, in the left corner of the fence. The shed was for the extremely rare occasion that Ria or Harry would have to brew a potion for someone. They usually left that kind of thing over to Draco and Hermione.

James was behind the cauldron in the middle of the shed. He was completely blocked from sight when she opened the door, but she heard his sniffling.

"James?"

"Leave me alone!"

"I'm sorry James."

"You stay away from me!"

Ria thought back to those ten minutes of steadily rising terror, not knowing where he was.

He could have been hit by a car.

He could have been kidnapped by a pervert.

He could have fallen and scratched his nail on something, getting a unique infection that no potion could cure.

He could have gone to a neighbor's house and told them what she had done.

But here he was. Safe and sound.

And away from any prying eyes or listening ears. Here, at least, she could relax a bit.

"James, please."

She walked around the cauldron. James had his back to it. He was rocking back and forth and sucking his thumb. Damn it, he was regressing. He didn't even look at her as she knelt down beside him. He kept staring forward.

"Sweetie, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

"You don't love me."

"Yes, I do." she slowly brought her hands to his face. And she really did. She just

 _(why? Why do you do these things Astoria)_

lost her temper. That was all. It was just something that happened from time to time and she didn't always know the best way to react. She'd lost her temper at Goyle and kicked him into the lake with the squid-thing in it. She'd lost her temper with Pansy and slapped her cross-eyed. She'd lost her temper with her granddad and cursed him before he could curse her. She'd lost her temper with Gareth Gobblecock and wiped his memory. She'd lost her temper with Wu and—

She couldn't be blamed for it, any more than Harry could. Look at the shit life wanted to throw at them: a son who was physically abusive to his brother. Sure, she perhaps overreacted, but she was still the parent. She had to regulate. She _had_ to. Under no circumstances did she want James growing up thinking it was fine and dandy to hurt those who could not defend themselves. Like Goyle. Like Crabbe.

And when such things _weren't_ happening in her household, when certain individuals acted how they were _supposed_ to, then there wasn't a nicer mother in the world.

"I love you a lot, James." Ria said. She touched his face and he flinched away. She firmly took his chin in two fingers and made him look at her. "But I need you to listen to me, okay?"

James wiped his face and looked at her. There was real anger in his gray-green eyes, but mostly hurt, as though to ask: _How could you do this to me?_

"I know you didn't like it when I used that charm on you." Ria said gently. "I hated it too, James. It sucks when people are hurting you and you can't do anything about it. I never want you to do something like that again. You shouldn't hurt the weak. The weak can't defend themselves like the strong can."

Just then, something strange crossed his face. It was at once completely alien and entirely familiar. Where had she seen it before?

"What about the strong? Is it okay for me to hurt them?"

Another woman—another mother—might have been disturbed by the questions. But Ria was not. She felt genuine relief for the first time today.

"It depends," Ria said honestly. "Some strong people are good. Like your father and Uncle Ron. They use their abilities to help other people. I've told you this before. They hurt bad guys so the bad guys don't hurt innocent people."

"Can I..." James paused, as if he wasn't even sure of what would be said next. "Can I kill them? If they're really bad?"

Again, another person might have been disturbed by the question. Ria was not.

"Maybe. But only if they're really bad."

"Really bad?"

"Yes."

"How will I know?"

Ria bit her lip in careful consideration.

"If they are trying to kill somebody themselves."

"Okay."

"But only when they are doing that. Okay?"

James' face was calm now. "Okay."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

"Pinky promise." Ria said.

He held him up his pinky. She took it with hers.

"Earth, water, fire, air," James said, "I declare a pinky swear."

She smiled and so did he. But it was the smile of a POW, newly released. There was relief in that smile and genuine misery.

But Ria told herself that was just for today. Then she hugged him.

"One more thing."

"Yes, mom?"

"Don't tell your father, okay?"

And the words went descended the sprawling depths of James Potter's fragile mind, into a deep, dark labyrinth where people never looked.


	4. Agony

Agony

[1]

He didn't know where he was and his head ached terribly. It was pitch black and he couldn't even see his own body.

He was in a chair, his arms fastened to its arms and his legs fastened to its legs.

Whatever crap was used for the binding, he didn't know if he'd ever felt anything like it before. It was soft like rubber, and there was plenty of yield. But when he pulled his arms or his legs past a certain point, the binding just snapped his limbs back to the chair. It was like taffy.

"Where am I? Hello?! Someone help!"

He didn't know how he got here. He only remembered

 _(a drink)_

that he'd been at the Black Horse with two friends. Their faces were hazy even now. One of the friends got a call on the phone and had to leave. His friend went up to talk to some girl and whatever he said must have worked because then they were gone too.

Then he was at the bar by himself. After that...

A door somewhere on the left suddenly opened and white light trickled in. A woman came through the threshold. She was holding a long candle...or he thought it was a candle. No...there was no fire but a strong light. It was a flashlight. It had to be a flashlight. Although the body was extremely thin and long. Perhaps that wasn't so strange, because flashlights came in different shapes and sizes.

What _was_ strange, is that the woman wasn't pointing it at him, but up toward the ceiling. What was also strange is it wasn't casting a cone of light.

No, instead at the tip of the flashlight was something like a sphere of light. An actual sphere that wasn't connected to the body at all. What the actual hell?!

The meager but strong light illuminated at least a portion of the room dark room, showing that the walls were

The woman closed the door behind her.

"W-who are you?" he said.

"W-what is this p-p-place?"

The woman didn't answer, but kept walking towards him. His heart was ready to burst out of his chest and he was already crying. Images raced through his mind:

-his nails being pried off one by one, before his digits were cut off. Then his arms.

-a knife popping both of his eyes before slitting his throat.

-that same knife carving satanic symbols across his torso.

-lit cigarettes burning his skin here and there, before she came in with a canister of gasoline.

-a funnel being jammed into his mouth and bleach being poured in.

-a heavy caliber gun turning him into swiss cheese.

-a metal baseball bat to make his head look like Glenn's after Negan was done with him.

Or maybe she would do nothing of the sort, but each day give him two cups water to drink. He would ask for food, but she would give him the two cups of water and walk out. Even when his stomach roared like a leviathan. Even when he begged. Even when he cried. Even when he visibly thinned as his body started eating itself alive. She would give him two cups of water and walk out. Each day.

He began to scream.

The woman pointed the flashlight at him, said something that sounded like the word "Silence."

And his mouth slammed shut. There was an audible clack as the teeth stamped together.

He still tried to scream, and managed nothing other than muffled gasps.

[2]

"I'm sorry to have you bound up like this." the woman said. He looked at her with wide, frightened eyes. He took a good long look at her. She looked nothing like what he thought a serial killer and kidnapper would look like. He'd read plenty of Dean Koontz. There were manic serial killers and stoic ones. Manic killers were like grownup children, throwing tantrums and violently assaulting anyone who stopped them from getting what they wanted. They killed because they got off on it. It got them wet or hard. Life was nothing without murdering someone who couldn't defend themselves.

Stoic killers had faces so calm they might have been slabs of granite. They talked with smooth, eerie voices which would sometimes disturb you but sometimes put you into a false sense of security. Stoic killers looked and often acted like every day people. They could be police officers, or building inspectors, or businessmen. They killed for profit, or because they had to attain some kind of utopia.

But this woman, she didn't really look like either type. He would swear—even months later—that he was the most frightened person in this room at this time. But this crazy bitch, he thought, was a _very_ close second. She had a narrow, beautiful face, but her nose was gigantic, which would have been funny if he wasn't strapped to a chair.

And the flashlight, it wasn't a flashlight. He had no idea what it was or what was going on.

"I'm really sorry to have you here like this." she said.

My God, she even sounded frightened—and not just that but terrified.

"I can ungag you." she said softly. "But I need you to promise me you won't scream."

His heart hammered in his chest. He had no idea how she had gagged him in the first place when there was nothing over his mouth. But when she ungagged him, he was going to scream until his throat exploded.

"If you scream," her eyes narrowed, "I'll just gag you again. But this time, I won't remove it. I'll leave you down here in the darkness. You'll hear sounds from outside, and you'll wonder if it someone who found this place, someone coming to investigate me, someone coming to rescue you. But that someone will never come."

He was crying at this point.

"Do you promise?"

He nodded, still weeping like a baby. The woman said some words he didn't understand, and he could move his mouth again. He remembered what he said and considered screaming anyway. But that would make things so much worse.

"Do you remember me?" she asked.

That question confused him. Enough to turn the waterworks from a flood to a drizzle. It just didn't make any sense.

He stared at her for what felt like hours. She had nothing on but a nightgown, as if she was going to bed directly after this. It was slightly transparent and fetchingly showed her panties and bra underneath, but he obviously wasn't fetched.

He tried placing her face. It was somewhat familiar, but not much.

"I had to stun you in order to get you down here." she said. "Do you remember that?"

He thought about it.

"I don't remember anything after I sat down at the bar. I remember something red, like a traffic light."

"That's what you think that was?"

She wasn't making any sense. "What does it matter if you're going to kill me?" he gulped. "Are you?"

"No."

"Then let me go." he said. "Please?"

"Not yet." she said. "I have to run some tests first."

The flashlight with the floating light bobbed and she said something that sounded like _incendiary_. All of a sudden, there were candles light up in the corners of the room.

"What the hell?" he gasped. "What is going on?! What is that thing?! What are you?!"

She looked at him and answered in order: "I kidnapped you. This thing in a magic wand. And I'm a witch."

"I think bitch is more accurate."

She laughed, and it was genuine laughter with not a hint of sarcasm in it.

"What the hell are you talking about magic? This isn't Final Fantasy. There's no such thing as magic."

"There is such a thing as magic." the crazy woman said. "Watch."

She said something that sounded like the word "Expect" and from tip of the flashlight/wand began to shine with soft silver light.

 _It's a trick. It has to be a trick._

The light immediately took shape. It broke off into bulbs, which then changed into sparrows. In spite of them flapping their ghostly wings, there were no fluttering sounds. With each flap came an eldritch whisper that he could only barely here.

"W-what the hell _is_ this?" he said softly.

The lunatic favored him with a satisfied smile. "Magic."

"Bullshit."

"You think so." she asked, smiling. "It doesn't matter. I have to run some tests."

"Tests?"

"Yuh-huh."

She turned and left the room. There was no light in the doorway that he could see.

Tests. He didn't like the sound of that.

More pictures came to mind, but these had no form or color. This wasn't a physical fear he was feeling right now. He was staring into a deep abyss, in which monstrous shadow figures crawled and slithered. Their movements—hidden. Their shape—uncertain. Their nature—unknown.

And that _stuff_ that was coming out of the flashlight. What the Christ was _that_ about? It couldn't really be what she was saying it was, could it?

The door opened and the psycho came back into the room, holding two massive shopping bags of all things. Whatever was in there was heavy. The muscles on her arms were in sharp relief and sweat shined on her forehead.

"The hell is that?"

"Be quiet."

She put the bags down with a heavy _thomp!_

And went back out. Then came back with two more bags.

He could see little feelers poking out of the tops and he was sickened. Bugs or some weird shit like that.

Then she reached in and pulled one of those feelers out. It wasn't a feeler at all but a stick of wood just like the one she was holding.

"You like Naruto?" she said, seemingly at random.

"You're a damn lunatic."

"One of my s—" she paused. "Someone I know really likes Naruto."

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"Stop interrupting me." she warned.

He glowered at her and said nothing.

"In that story, the people can use chakra. Everybody can use chakra. But in order for them to use the ninjustu, they have to do that weird stuff with their hands. It looks like sign language, but I can't remember what it's called."

What did any of this have to do with anything?

"Wands are like that. You have to wave them differently for certain spells."

"I can't believe I'm listening to this." he muttered.

"You need to listen." she warned. "You won't be able to leave until you make this work."

This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. This wasn't—

"I have to use the bathroom." he blurted out.

"No, you don't." she said with complete certainty. "You went before I stunned you."

"I have to take a shit." he was reaching now.

"No, you don't." she said. A small, wincing smile played across her face. "You shit yourself _after_ I stunned you."

Damn it. Plan B.  
"Look here...ma'am."

She laughed at that, like he'd told the funniest joke in the world. "Ma'am? That's a riot."

"You don't seem like a bad person."

"Thank you." she said, and she smiled. Not a smirk. A pure, genuine smile. She wasn't mocking or being sarcastic in any way. She truly accepted the compliment.

"I don't know what the hell is going on or what the hell is in your head. But I do know this: I'm not like you. I can't do whatever this is that you're doing. This magic—if that's what this is—there's no way I can do it. I don't have powers like that."

Her smile fell away. Any hint of good humor was completely gone. He screwed up and he knew it but he kept going.

"I can't do this magic shit. I _know_ I can't. So please...I'm begging you. Just let me—"

"You're wrong." she said.

"Lady, listen—"

"No, you shut up and listen." she said gravely.

He gulped.

"Don't talk like them."

"Like who?"

She shook her head violently. "It doesn't matter. Everyone can do it. My father was in Records. I saw them. I know that everyone can do magic!"

"You're not making any sense."

"And you're stalling!" she snapped. "You said you can't do magic when you've never even tried it! What're you afraid of? I have an idea."

His voice trembled as he spoke. "I'm afraid of you."

She shook her head. "No. You're afraid that I'm right. You think you're weak and pathetic. It's an excuse. Of course you won't succeed _because_ you are weak and pathetic, so why even try at all? Why not just spend all day and all night drinking at a bar with your head on the table? And if it turns out that I'm right and you _do_ have power, if it turns out you _can_ do amazing things, then you don't have any more excuses, then. Do you?"

"Please let me go."

"Enough." she said. "No more arguing. If you don't shut up, I'll gag you again."

He said nothing.

"Do you want to me to gag you again? This experiment is going to happen either way and I don't need you to talk to respond to my directions."

He closed his eyes. Tears ran down his face. "I don't want you to gag me."

"Good." she turned to the box on the floor, taking out a wand. She brought it over to him.

[3]

"Hold this."

He held it.

"What do you feel?" she asked.

"The wood." he said. It was actually pretty nice wood, varnished and all that shit.

"No, I mean what do you feel on the inside?"

"Scared. Frightened. Terrified. Hungry."

She gave an exasperated sigh. "Oh Merlin, I'm going to gag you."

"What exactly do you want me to say?" he snapped. And what did the Knights of the Round Table have to do with anything?!

"How does the wand make you feel? Does it make you feel warm? Cold?"

"I don't feel anything."

"Okay." she grabbed it and put it on the floor. She had a pen in one hand and a notebook in the other. She was writing something down.

"Did you...always have those things on you?" he asked.

She didn't answer. Put the stuff away somewhere. Took another wand out of the box. This one looked ugly, little more than an actual branch from an actual tree.

"This one?"

"I don't feel anything."

A straight, black one.

"This?"

"No."

A bumpy looking one.

"How 'bout that?"

"Nothing."

An actual pretty beautiful and ornate silver one. It felt almost silky in his hands. But...that smooth feeling—that was all.

"I don't feel anything."

"Don't feel too bad." she said with genuine sympathy. "You don't choose the wand. The wand chooses you."

Wasn't that just precious? The most spiritual Eastern monk on the planet would be gasping for breath on the floor right about now.

But the humor of it was immediately lost when she forced another one into his hand.

[4]

And so on and so on.

Wand in hand.

It went on forever.

I don't feel anything.

She cocked her head at him at one point.

"You think I'm lying?" he asked.

She smiled. "No. The last guy did. And the woman before him. They told me what they thought I wanted to hear...and I did want to hear it. Then we went to the next part of the test and I quickly figured out they were lying. I wasn't happy."

His mind filled with unpleasant things best left undiscovered.

On and on. He hoped that she would realize her mistake. That if he tried enough wands, she would realize that he hadn't been lying before: he really _couldn't_ do magic...or whatever it was.

Again and again. Each time, she scribbled something in her stupid notebook.

She was started to get frustrated. He could tell because her frown was starting to deepen, and she stopped saying it's all right and that's okay.

And so on and so on and the man in the chair fell into annoyance...and then despair. He remembered being so afraid that she would murder him in some gruesome fashion. Now, he would have preferred that. Because that at least meant the suffering would at one point come to an end. But this? He was afraid this nonsense would never end.

Thankfully, it did.

[5]

They were perhaps 100 wands in—but probably more—when she gave him one that was different. Compared to the others, it was quiet plain: brown and short, with a few knots here and there.

She gave it to him. He grabbed it.

There was a strange warmth coming from it. Not intense, like putting his hand to a fire. It was pleasant...even soothing. He felt good.

Something must have showed on his face. "What is it?" she asked hopefully.

"This one feels warm."

"Really?"

"Yes. It makes me feel warm too."

She cocked her head at him again.

"You aren't lying, are you?"

"I'm not lying." he said, with more than a little anger in the tone.

She said: "That wand is a lot like mine. Hungarian Horntail dragon heartstring."

Nonsensical words that meant nothing to him.

"No...wait..."

"What?"

The warmth was beginning to fade.

"It's going away."

Stupidly, he clenched the wand tighter, in some ridiculous attempt to keep the warmth in. But after a few seconds, it was completely gone.

"It's gone."

He looked at her, thinking she would be furious. Instead, she was beaming.

"This is great!"

Was it? He didn't say anything.

"This proves what I was talking about before."

He wasn't so sure but didn't say anything. If she was happy, maybe she would allow him to leave sooner rather than later. It was doubtful but...

"Now what?" he asked.

She smiled at him, making his blood run cold. "Now, Test 2."

[6]

It was something she called the "Levitating Charm." It was supposed to do exactly what the name implied.

There was supposed to be a kind of movement to it, so she had to release one of his bonds. Speaking of which, he finally got a chance to look at them. The bonds were pitch-black in appearance and just as stretchy—but ultimately strong—as they had appeared in the darkness.

"I'm trusting you a little bit." she said gravely. "Just like I trusted the other two."

"Okay."

"Your other limbs will stay stuck." she said. "Don't mess this up, okay? Don't mess this up and try anything cute."

"Okay."

"I won't kill you. I don't want to hurt you at all. But I will. You best believe that."

He looked at her overbright eyes and sweating face and believed it entirely.

She flicked her wand and the bond snapped apart with an audible _pop_.

She went behind him somewhere, not saying anything. He was nervous for a second, and then she was back in view. In her left hand was a simple twig.

"You're going to try and make this float in the air."

The first thing he thought was _I can't_ but he stopped before the words were out. She wouldn't like them.

"First the incantation." she said.

The woman said two words that sounded like complete bullshit. The first one had "wings" in it and the second had "levi."

It took him a few tries to get them right. His first try was so bad it made her laugh and he felt the flush on his face of old shame. It wasn't the first time a woman had laughed at him and wouldn't be the last.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

"That's right as rain."

He nearly rolled his eyes.

She showed him the wand motion, which was basically a downward slash and a point at the object.

"Wingardium Leviosa." he said and did the wand motion, feeling twice as stupid as he had before. Of course, the wand responded by doing absolutely nothing.

She had him try again and again.

Nothing. No dice.

"That's okay." she said. We'll keep trying."

She plucked the wand from his hand. "Maybe that one wasn't right for you after all."

She muttered to herself. "But why was it warm, then?"

The woman shook her head, dark hair waving across her shoulders.

"Doesn't matter. We still have over 200 wands to go through."

He wanted to scream.


	5. Close Quarters

AN: One would think that focusing on one fanfiction and one serious book would keep them out of a creative vortex and one would be completely wrong. This took like two straight weeks. No lie.

Close Quarters

[1]

They had gotten anonymous tip that something was going down in Bracknell.

The place in question was a warehouse near the outskirts of the town. There were no lights on and all the windows had their blinds shut.

If there was anything going on inside, they couldn't see it. Which was probably the point.

Harry had his team scan the perimeter for doors. There was at least one on each side. All of them were locked. That wasn't so strange. This building had been abandoned a decade ago. What _was_ strange is that they weren't locked because the local government had thrown metal chains across the door. In fact, they weren't locked in any visible way. But when Harry tried opening, his hand was immediately scalded.

"Shit!"

Ron came up beside him. "You okay, Harry?"

"Yeah, just burned my hand a little bit."

In truth, his hand now looked awful, like he'd put his hand to a burning stove and absolutely refused to take it away. He put a healing spell to it. While it didn't really do much for the wound, the pain went from a bright-white flaring to a dull but persistent burn. He was pretty sure it would be all right until he went to St. Mungo's.

Well the door was obviously charmed. So, if nothing else, their intel had been accurate.

"Okay." Harry said through clenched teeth. "We've drilled this before."

"Roger, sir." Willa said. She was petite and pretty but far too young.

"Don't call me sir."

Ron said. "Shouldn't we scout inside first?"

"Can't." Harry answered. "James has my cloak."

Ron stared at him. "...why?"

Harry shrugged. "To get into mischief with, Ron. Give me a break."

"I'm sure it seemed like a good idea at the time, sir."

"Willa, stop brownnosing." Harry said. "And don't call me sir."

"Sorry, s—I mean, boss."

Harry sighed.

They were at the southern entrance. Nero, Biehr and Bolson were at the western. Togo, Michaels and Uygur at the northern. Mahmoud, Rankin and Peer at the eastern.

Harry raised his wand to his right ear, said "Cationis." The wand began to hum faintly but it did not glow. "Prope stratus."

He could hear the voices of the Augers in position. He knew for a fact that their wands were humming too.

"Report." Harry spoke to the wand.

He was answered with a ceaseless river of profanity from Bolson, Uygur and Rankin. Each of them had been the ones to try opening the locked doors on their side and you didn't have to be a genius to figure out that their hands had gotten messed up too.

"Shut up." Harry said coldly. The profane parties shut up. "You aren't grade school students trying to impress the other kids with all the swear words you know. You are Aurors and you're talking to me."

Uygur and Bolson apologized. Rankin was silent. His attitude was garbage and Harry didn't care for him and knew the feeling was mutual.

Harry breathed in. Breathed out. Quickly managed to get himself under control. He'd gotten much better at controlling his temper. He had his kids and Ria to thank for that.

Almost immediately, he was back at neutral.

"Everybody ready?" Harry spoke into the wand.

"Affirmative." they all said at once.

"Ready and waiting."

"Roger."

"Count of three."

Ron aimed his wand at the door.

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

Ron's Reducto blew the door off the hinges. It was loud enough that Harry couldn't hear the sound of the others getting breached.

It didn't matter.

The newly broken door led to a large hallway, almost like a foyer. At the far end of the corridor, it hooked to the right. A figure rounded this corner. It wore all black, but had a white mask. Harry thought it was a man, and got his confirmation when he heard a male voice cry out: "Stupefy!"

Harry didn't deflect it with a Shield Charm, but sidestepped to one side while firing off his own Stunning Charm.

The brilliant bolt of red light dashed towards the dark wizard, whom managed to say "Proteg—" before getting struck and immediately dropping.

Harry's squad went in. Ron and crept up to the corner peeked around it. "Clear." he said.

Willa checked the downed man. "Sleeping like a baby."

Of course he was. The Stunning Charms of some wizards could do just that—stun. Harry's charms had been knocking people straight out for a decade and a half. He'd been proud of things like that back then. Now, it was just business as usual.

"Take his mask off."

Willa fumbled with the hood until it was down to his neck, then removed the mask.

A complete stranger, of course. Blonde and with a baby-face that had chubby cheeks. Half open, his eyes were as blue as the ocean. Willa closed them.

"Think he's an Equalist?" Willa whispered.

"He's got to be." Harry answered. The guy hadn't even used a hex or a curse, but a simple stunning charm. The man might have been an Average Joe, who'd wandered into trouble and tried to defend himself.

"Look at the mask." Harry said.

Willa did. The white mask had three thin black rings in the middle. They were in a triangle shape, two on top and one on bottom. All three overlapped with one another.

"Weird." Willa said.

"Not really." Harry said.

"When was the last time you fought a Death Eater, sir?"

"Not long ago enough." Harry said honestly.

After Binding the assailant, Harry turned his attention to Ron and the next hallway. It was still clear.

Not to mention long. It stretched all the way to the other side of the building, and there were tons of doors, too, on both sides of the hallway. Nearly all of them were closed, save for one in the middle and to the right. That one was slightly ajar. There was no light or sound coming from it.

"What kind of factory was this?" Ron asked.

"Quiet." Harry said. The door all the way at the end of the hallway opened. Whoever came through did so with Lumos activated, the light small but fairly strong. Harry raised his wand. He had decent aim, but knew for a fact that Ron's was better.

"Lower it!" Ron whispered harshly. "It's Rankin."

"How the hell can you see them from here?" Harry asked.

"No white masks, mate." Ron said.

Sure enough, no white masks. It was Rankin and his team. Ron waved at them. Mahmoud waved but Rankin gave his middle finger instead. Harry flipped him off back.

A door on the left wall opened. Harry pinned himself to the left wall and steadily closed in. Ron stayed at the corner behind him. Across the hall, Peer was doing the same thing.

A person came through the door. It was just Togo and his crew. Harry waved them off.

"Two contacts on the way in." Togo said. "White masks, black clothes. Both women."

"You Bind them?" Harry asked.

Togo's eyes suddenly bugged out. "Be back in five."

Togo and his team went off.

"Jesus Christ," Harry muttered. "I wonder if he has to be reminded to take the lid up before pissing in the toilet."

"Take it easy, Harry. They're still new." Ron said. That was true enough. He and Ron were in their late-30s at this point. Already they had seen some crazy shit. Perhaps not as soul-crushing as Malfoy and Nott disarming those dark artifacts but being a cop wasn't for the faint of heart.

Togo and his band of slapsticks came back. That just left the matter of the ajar door.

"Cover us". Harry said. He, Ron and Willa went in first.

[2]

This room was larger. The three of them quickly fanned out to different corners. There was a single large table in the middle. There were several books on it.

"Clear." Willa said.

"Some light." Harry ordered.

"Lumos." Togo said, and the light source was small but adequate.

The room was a series of contradictions. It was full of junk and clutter while at the same time being clean and orderly.

In the far corner was a large black bag. Harry toed it and heard a metallic clink of cans bumping together. He bent down and sniffed it. There was the subtle yet strong, corn-smell of alcohol.

In another corner was a bunch of sleeping bags. The wall to the left of the door was completely obscured by cardboard boxes. Harry obviously had no intention of opening each one, but did open the one on top. Electrical stuffs. Computer components.

The boxes were labeled too. Someone had written on them with marker. Most read "Discard." A few had "Keep."

Harry turned to the table and it was the same story here. Tons of books, far too much for table to reasonably hold. But the books were stacked neatly on top of the table. They were on the floor too but not scattered everywhere, instead neatly stacked on top of one another. The person had even made sure that none of them were poking out from under the table.

The books weren't dusty and didn't smell old. These hadn't been just abandoned. They had been moved—perhaps even read—recently.

"Harry." Ron said quietly.

Harry turned. "What, mate?"

Ron was looking at a piece of the wall to the right of the door.

Harry knew immediately what that meant. "There's a door there?"

"Yeah, I sense magic here."

"With vibrations going to your foot or something?" Rankin scoffed.

Ron flashed him a grim smile. "Yeah, something like that."

Harry exhaled through his teeth. He hoped it wouldn't be like that house from three years ago. The hidden door in that psychopath's house had required a code. The Auror department had actually had to call in a linguist expert to figure that out. The expert had been of the opinion that the psycho in question "Had spent too much time playing Silent Hill 3."

He hoped that this wouldn't be a similar issue.

Ron tried a simple Alohomora, which had no visible effect.

"Can you carve out an opening?"

"I can give it a shot."

"Stand back everyone." Harry said, although the team was already backing away, toward the cardboard boxes. "And duck."

Nobody ducked, but it didn't matter. Ron's Gouging Charm carved out a rectangle in the wall. It fell forward with a loud bang. Ron stepped spritely backwards. Behind the wall was a staircase leading down.

The plan was for them to go down and see what the hell.

But then something silly happened.

[3]

Before any of them could do anything, they heard footfalls coming from below.

A female voice, shrill and hectoring. "Dante, I swear to Jesus, I'm going to curse you into oblivion! The code is 022901! It's my birthday for shit's sake! STOP GOUGING OUT MY DOOR!"

The woman appeared at the top of the stairs. Harry's guard wasn't exactly down, but it wasn't tight either. That, as it had turned out later during questioning, had been the whole point.

A figure appeared at the stairs. Harry thought her eyes would be bugging out in shock, her mouth wide open to choke on her foot with.

No.

Immediately she was firing Body Bind Curses at them.

One struck Rankin, who screamed, then abruptly stopped, the dropped like a sack of potatoes. Everyone else managed to duck in time. Harry managed to duck and cast Expelliarmus at the same time. The wand flew from the woman's hand.

She teetered on the stairs, nearly falling down before righting herself.

Harry thought that was it. Then she withdrew _another_ wand and started throwing Disarming Charms of her own.

Harry repelled one with a Shield Charm. It bounced into the ceiling just above the assailant, making her recoil.

She was immediately struck with five different spells; disarmed, stunned, and Body Bound at the same time. The force of it all knocked her down the stairs. She went down screaming. There was a sickening crack as a bone broke.

Harry immediately dashed to the top of the steps and cast Wingardium, just as another of her limbs smashed on another one of the steps. She was still screaming.

"Help me!" Rankin grunted.

He gestured with the wand, bring her floating body back up the stairs, doing his best to keep her from hitting the walls around her.

"Silencio." Ron said, and the woman screams were cut off. Harry placed her gently on the floor. She was still Bound.

The woman's face was a mask of agony. She had short blonde hair and slender features.

"Uygur, potion please." Harry said.

"Help me!"

Uygur withdrew one from his robes. It wasn't a particularly strong healing potion. It was mostly to dull the pain and was quite effective at that. Harry thought the woman wouldn't take it, which would be holding her head and forcing her mouth open, something none of the Aurors wanted to do.

But she took the potion. Her screams faded, and her face became neutral. She looked like she had either fallen asleep or passed out. She had slender features, giving her more than a passing resemblance to Draco Malfoy of all people.

"Remove the gag?" Ron asked.

"Keep her quiet for right now." Harry said, not liking the double entendre there. It made him want to take a shower. "You guys stay here. Me and Ron will see what's down there."

"I'm going with you, boss." Willa said.

"Fine."

"Help me for God's sake!" Rankin grunted.

"Can we put a gag on him, too?" Togo asked.

"Don't temp me, please." Harry said dryly.

Everyone laughed. It even managed to make Harry crack a smile.

[4]

He even kept up the smile as Ron, Willa and himself descended the stairs. It began to vanish when he heard a noise from below.

A captive?

He made it to the bottom of the stairs and looked around and saw that he was right. Four times over.

"Jesus Christ." Willa muttered.

This room was very large, completely dwarfing any of the ones above. It didn't have any of the clutter. The floors were bared, except for the objects in the middle. There was a box on the floor. It was in front of a row of four lawn chairs, no different from the ones in Harry's backyard.

The first chair had a tubby woman with grey hair. She didn't look like Harry's late Aunt Marjorie, but he thought of her just the same. And frowned deeply.

The second chair had a young black boy, who looked a bit like Dean Thomas if he'd fallen face-first into a hornet's nest. He was sobbing. In one hand was a wand.

The third chair was a redheaded pre-teen girl about Delphini's age. She was crying too, but not sobbing. Her blue eyes glared at the Aurors defiantly.

The fourth chair had a dead ringer for Vernon Dursley. The resemblance was so strong, they could've been brothers. So strong, Harry paused to stare at him to make sure.

None of them were talking, their lips frozen together. They had been gagged by Ms. Stop Gouging My Door up there.

Harry didn't remove their gags yet.

"I need you guys to listen carefully to me." Harry said. "We're not with that blonde woman who just left the room. I can't tell you our names or what we are. I'm here to help you. Can you guys walk?"

They stared at him with wide, trembling eyes. They didn't nod or shake their heads.

Harry released the Silencing Charm on Vernon's twin brother, since he seemed the most calm, which wasn't saying a whole lot.

"Hey, man. You a freak?" the man asked. "Like she was?"

His voice was so completely unlike Vernon's that Harry nearly laughed.

"We're not freaks." Ron said dryly.

"She could do freaky stuff with freaky powers." the man said. "It was insane, man."

"I bet."

Harry released the Silencing Charm on the black kid. He didn't say anything. He just sobbed with an unrestrained mouth.

The big lady was next. "I don't reckon you got any cocaine on you, right partner?"

Ron chuckled.

"Afraid not." Harry said.

"I really need some right about now."

"Good for you."

Ron laughed. It was cut off when Willa elbowed him.

The girl with the fierce eyes was last. And Dear Sweet, Merlin, did Harry regret it.

"You better take me home right now if you know what's good for you, you _punk_! You take me home right now or my dad will sue the shit out of you, you punk! His name is Terrance Brooklyn and he's the best lawyer in the Midwest! He's been practicing law for a decade and always wins his cases! And by the time he's done with you and that blonde bitch, you two won't have so much as an ass crack to shit out of, YOU PUNK! And furthermore—"

He wordlessly put a Silencing Charm back on her. He blinked unsteadily. He put a hand to his head.

"Wow." Harry muttered. "Okay."

Ron snickered again, and grunted when Willa elbowed him again.

The boy was still crying. He spoke at last. "I.."

"What?" Harry asked.

"I can't..."

Harry mentally slapped himself. They were still bound, of course.

"Don't worry. I'll release you guys, but I need some information first."

Actually, he needed information _and_ to wipe their memories.

"What are your names?"

Vernon Dursley was actually Roger Garrett.

Garrett said the brat was Dede Brooklyn.

Nose Candy Enthusiast was Vicky (with a Y and not an IE) but refused to give her last name, because she thought Harry was a narco.

The crying kid was John Coffey (like the main character from that prison movie).

How did they end up here?

The stories varied. Garrett lived alone and had been napping in his backyard. He'd heard a small noise to his left but thought nothing of it.

Vicky refused to tell what she'd been doing. Harry could take a few guesses.

John remembered waking up in the middle of the night, unable to move. There'd been a person standing right beside him. He'd thought he was going to be eaten by a monster.

"I was wrong." John said. "They bring us here instead."

"Who? How many?" Harry asked.

"I don't know." John said. He sniffed. "When we was brought here, we thought she was going to kill us." He looked at the others, "Didn't we? Didn't we think she was going to kill us?"

The other captives nodded, except for Dede, who just glared angrily.

The kid looked at Harry. "But she said she didn't want to kill us. She wouldn't kill us unless we tried to scream. There wasn't people around but she didn't want us to scream."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Why kidnap you in the first place?"

"She said we could do like she does." John said. "She said we could make things float. She said we could turn birds into cups. She said we could blast walls wide open."

"You four?"

John shook his head. "No. _All_ of us. All of us normal people. We just needed to have the right magic rod for it, just like that one you got right there."

"Wands." Harry said reflexively.

"Harry..." Ron warned. "Ouch! Damn it, Willa!"

"Sorry, sir."

John was crying again. "I tried, man. I really tried." He still held the wand in his right hand. It began to tremble. "I really did. I want to be able to do magic. I want to make things, float. But I can't. It never works."

He whimpered and choked the last few words out.

"S-s-she wasn't guh-gonna let any of us go unless one of us c-c-c-could do s-something. Any wuh-one of us, it didn't m-matter who. And she would let uh-uh-us _all_ go if just one of us c-could do s-s-suh-something magical. I wuh-wanted h-her to l-l-l-l-l-et us guh-go but I a-a-also w-wanted to be a-a-able to do it."

Ron smacked his lips with disgust. His dark humor from before was entirely gone. "Terrible. Just terrible. Who would want to do something like this to people?"

Harry grinded his teeth together. Those miserable Equalist pukes, that's who. He knew about basically all the shit that was said at the open rallies but a much smaller fraction of the shit that was said during the more secret meetings. About how the sociological barrier between the wizarding world and the Muggle world needed to be eliminated and have both groups live in harmony.

It sounded nice on paper, and Harry liked to think positively about human nature. But he just couldn't see something like that happening in real life. The Muggle World had too many Uncle Vernons and Aunt Petunia's. If it wasn't bigotry it was envy.

The wizarding world wasn't perfect either. The idea of blood purity would never die out completely. It didn't matter that it had gotten its face kicked in twice. Now, the Equalists had risen up as a counter to it.

Countering it by employing much the same tactics.

Last month, one of the rallies in London turned into a riot. Ten people had died. Last week, an Exploding Potion had gone off in the Department of Mysteries. No one had died but Ford Fenburg (a janitor with high clearance) had lost both his legs and was now in critical condition over a Mungo's. That wasn't even going into all the death threats the Ministry received in a mail on a daily basis. A few of them mentioned Harry by name, which didn't bother him. But it also mentioned Ron sometimes, and his family. And Hermione and her family. And Harry's family with Ria. That did bother him.

Harry could duel well. He had no illusions or false modesty about that. But he wasn't invincible. Neither were his friends and family.

But this shit about Muggles being able to do magic, that was a new one.

Harry paused, frowning.

Was it?

Hadn't he heard something like that a long time ago?

He thought about it but wasn't sure. He shook his head. It didn't matter. What mattered was that if this was the Equalist idea of progress—kidnapping Muggles and forcing them to do something Harry was pretty damn sure they couldn't do—he wanted no part of it.

After that, it was just a matter of getting background information. Vicky McGlassStraw still wasn't talking and My Daddy is the Best Lawyer was still gagged. Upstairs, Rankin was already calling this in. Paramedics from St. Mungos were on their way. At the hospital, with a lawyer present, the Aurors would be able to use the Veritaserum in their pockets.

[5]

Harry left them and went upstairs.

"How is she?" he asked.

Togo looked at him. "She's awake now."

The blonde woman lay in the middle of the rough circle the Aurors had formed. Uygur and Mahmoud were covering the door.

The woman stared at him, jaw clenched so tight he thought it would snap, eyes fuming.

"What's your name?"

"Where's my lawyer?"

"Don't make me ask again." Harry warned.

The blonde bitch favored him with a smug smile. It made her look even more like Draco Malfoy. "You aren't scaring me, pig. I'm not giving you anything until I see a lawyer."

He slowly aimed his wand at her.

Her grin actually widened. "That supposed to scare me? You really think I can't see that Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers lightning bolt on your forehead because you got some bangs over it? You won't torture me, Harry Potter, and you won't kill me either. Because that would make you like _them._ The same goes for your backup dancers."

He lowered the wand. She had him cold.

He kept asking and she kept repeating. He kept asking until asking felt pointless and called in the Mungo paramedics, as well as the forensics team from the Ministry.


	6. Lore

AN: Been working on this one off and on for the past two months.

Lore

[1]

The Department of Records was a library. People could come and go as they pleased, but the records could never leave with them.

The proctor in charge of it went by the name of Wade Moore. Moore had a twin sister, Claudia who worked Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Wade took Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, when the DoR—like the rest of the Ministry—closed at 3 pm.

Today was Saturday, and Moore had just an hour left. The front desk was to the left of the main entrance. Today had been slow. Only six people had come in and that had been entirely in the morning. The department was empty now. And that was fine. He wasn't supposed to nod off, but he stayed up late last night. It was something he did often. He wasn't hungover. He was quite happy about not being hungover.

The door opened and a man came through, dark-skinned and tall. Moore didn't swing that way, but he was quite handsome, truth be told.

"Hi there. Pass card, please."

He man came over and handed it to him. Billy Zolan, the card read. The face matched. The Ministry Crest was accurate and it was in the proper position. Everything checked out.

"I've not seen you before," Moore said. "So I'm going to go over some rules. Numero Uno: everything on these shelves stays on these shelves when you leave."

"Got it." Zolan said.

"Every single book or scroll in here is charmed. If you leave this department with it, it'll start screaming. Then it will catch fire without being destroyed. Your clothes, however, will be destroyed regardless of whatever charms you have cast on them. The charms on the documents cannot be countered."

A slight smirk crossed Zolan's face. Then it was gone. Maybe Moore imagined it. He was tired after all.

Moore said: "If you try to counter the charm, the book will catch fire and start screaming. Either way, I call the guards, and they call the Aurors. One of those people will be able to stun you, especially if one of them is Harry Potter."

Zolan looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. But he didn't. Moore yawned.

"Attempting to leave with, or attempting to tamper with, any of the documents here is a five year minimum sentence in Azkaban along with a permanent ban from any department in the Ministry."

"Understood."

"And don't give us any bullshit about how you 'just forgot.' People don't forget. They press their luck. That excuse might bring you down to three years depending on the how soft the Wizengamot is feeling that day."

The other rules were boring and standard. No running. No yelling or screaming. No fights (which had actually happened once). The bathrooms outside the front doors, so no taking documents there either.

Billy Zolan went out of sight. Moore would no more follow him than he would anyone else. The man had a face of someone that would try something. Let him try something. Moore could handle himself. And this guy couldn't defeat the Aurors that would come.

Still, he needed to keep awake. For just another hour, then he could close up shop.

He closed his eyes. He was just dozing. He would not fall asleep.

[2]

 _Click_

Moore was startled awake by a soft snapping sound.

 _Click_

It took him a second to remember where he was. In the Department of Records.

He looked around. The sound wasn't coming from nearby.

 _Click._

"Hello?"

The sound echoed across the shelves.

 _Click._

Moore didn't make another sound. He got up from his table.

 _Click. Click. Click._

Moore went around the first row of shelves, to the study tables, which were more like alcoves or stalls. They gave people some privacy from the sides but that was about it. He was on the second floor.

 _Click._

The sound was coming from the first.

Moore didn't yell, but made quite a bit of sound as he raced for the stairs and descended to them. By the time he made it to the first floor, the sound had gone away entirely. He waited for it. It didn't sound.

Moore went to the study tables on this floor. Zolan had his nose buried in a book, not looking up until Moore reached the table.

"What are you doing?" Moore asked.

"Reading." Zolan said. "What's the matter?"

"What was that snapping sound?"

"What the hell is wrong with you? There wasn't a snapping sound."

He looked at Zolan, trying to read his face. The man merely stared back.

"Show me your wand." Moore said.

Zolan looked puzzled. "My wand?"

Moore took out his own. "Right now. I'm damn serious. And don't point it at me."

Sighing, Zolan took it out.

"Give it here."

It was handed to him. He pointed his wand at it. "Priori Incantato."

The wand spewed out a spectral image of a series of brooms at work sweeping a floor.

Zolan sat with his chin in his hand, looking up at him.

"Priori Incantato." Moore said. The spectral image was a series of brooms sliding into view.

"I could search you." Moore stated, not giving the wand back. "I could find out what you're hiding."

Zolan only grinned. "Oooh. Like a strip search?"

Moore's face burned. "Shut up. I don't go for that."

"So I'm just imagining that blush on your face?" Zolan said, smirking. He was standing up.

"Damn right you are!" Moore shouted. Much, much too loudly. It echoed through the Department.

Zolan took a bold step forward. "Don't worry about it, sweetie. It's closing time. Nobody is here. Nobody will know."

"No!" Moore shrieked and shoved Zolan. The tall dark man fell onto the table. It just made him laugh. Throwing the wand at his face made him laugh even harder.

"Get out before I call the guards!" Moore yelled. His face was a damn furnace. He couldn't face anyone like this.

He ran upstairs. He ran to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face.

He was only there for 30 seconds, 45 at the most. He didn't hear Zolan trip the alarm outside.

Moore left the bathroom. He searched the entire Department. Zolan was nowhere to be found.

This was bad. Zolan had taken something. He was sure of it.

He went back to the front desk, and hit a hidden switch. A hidden compartment came out, and in it was a giant book, a catalog of every single document in here. He charmed it, making it float. Then a pen.

"I need help to do this."

But he was afraid.

He could just lie about why he ran to the bathroom. Say that he felt threatened. But then, the guards would ask, why he didn't just ring the alarm immediately? Why go to the bathroom? Lies begat more lies and he might not be able to keep the story straight. And if he was caught lying to Ministry of Magic guards, the next one in front of the Wizengamot would be him.

As brutal as it was, he had to do this alone.

[3]

And so he did. He took out a spare notebook from the desk, and wrote down an abbreviation for every single document in the book. There were ten of thousands. This alone took him two straight hours in spite of the magic. The pen ran out of ink before he was even a third of the way in. He had to charm another pen, and then another when the second ran out.

He was burning through ink so fast, it finally occurred to him there was an easier way to do this. Each document in the catalogue was numbered, so he just wrote those down. It saved him a lot of ink.

A guard came in. "What's up Moore?"

"Nothing, Harrisman."

Harrisman obviously noticed the charmed book and pen. He realized what Moore was doing. "I thought cataloging wasn't for another week?"

"I just felt like cataloging today." Moore said flatly. It wasn't exactly a lie.

"You aren't supposed to do it by yourself."

"Watch me."

Harrisman looked like he wanted to say something else. Then left it alone. After all, it was Saturday. If Moore knew Harrisman, he'd be heading for the nearest bar so that he would have a hangover to sleep off on Sunday.

The man left and Moore was alone again. Maybe Harrisman would notify Minister Granger and let her know what Moore was doing. He'd be up shit creek sans paddle if that happened.

"He's going off to get drunk." Moore assured himself. But there was very little in the way of assurance.

He started with the second floor, even though Zolan had been spotted on the first and had probably taken something from there. He had to be thorough. Each book had its catalogue number on the spine, and they were _supposed_ to be in order. Item 1, "Diary of Merlin" was at the edge of the second floor. Moore started there. They often weren't in order, because people moved them around even though they were told not. It didn't matter. All that mattered was the numbers.

"The numbers, Mason. What do the numbers mean?" Moore muttered and laughed frantically.

It took him four miserable hours to get through it all. It was summer and the sun wasn't even close to setting. His entire body was on fire. His feet and back felt like he'd been on the Long Walk, plodding forward with the threat of death beside him, soldiers riding on halftracks with wood and stone for faces.

And in the end, nothing had been taken.

[4]

The "man" named "Zolan" didn't go to "his" house in Godric's Hollow. "He" went to a little known house that was once frequented by Lavender Brown and her now departed aunt.

"Zolan" knocked.

"Who is it?"

"Let me in, Ernie."

Ernie MacMillan opened the door and shut it when "Zolan" walked in.

Immediately, the Polyjuice potion began to wear off and she was herself again.

"Damn it. That was way too close."

"Any trouble?" Ernie asked.

"Just some moppet who's probably still in the closet. I just gave him the Zabini routine. Cormac was right. That kind of shit really throws people for a loop."

Ernie smiled grimly. "Did you find it?"

"I hope to God and Merlin that I did. I don't know if we can risk something like that again. If this is a decoy..."

"Don't worry about it, boss. I'm sure you got it."

She gave him a playful slug. He returned it.

A woman entered the room, and beamed. "You made it!

"Let's not celebrate just yet, Hannah."

The three of them went to the living room. Ernie and Hannah MacMillan were the only sentries posted up here. The room was dark. All the rooms were dark. Hannah was providing the light source

"What have you guys been doing in here? It stinks."

"That's the smell of victory." Ernie said proudly. Hannah giggled and punched him.

"I hope there's no victory on the couch when I sit down."

"You want some cake, boss?" Hannah asked.

"Not really."

"Ron Weasley made it." Ernie said.

"Damn it! Now I have to."

The pair already had it cut into slices and plates spread out. She took one and ate. Yellow marble, about as simple as cakes could get and yet so wonderful. Ron Weasley wasn't as good a cook as his mother, but damn if he couldn't make some serious baked goods.

"It's frigging delicious." she said.

"It's because he was using the Sharingan." All three of them said at once.

She was done with the cake and put down the empty plate. She rubbed her slightly bulging stomach.

"I've got some pickles and ice cream if you need that." Ernie said, grinning. Hannah slugged him on the shoulder. "Ow!"

"Don't be a dick, Ernie."

The woman just cackled.

"You're right, Hannah." Ernie said sheepishly. "We got some seedless watermelon too. Ow!"

"Boy or girl?" Hannah asked.

"We don't know yet." she said, rubbing her tummy. "I'm thinking we'll call him James, if he's a boy. Or Lily if it's a girl."

"That's sweet." Ernie said sincerely.

She reached into her robes and pulled out the pocket Nikons.

"You got the dark room unlocked?" she asked.

"I'm almost tempted to say which one." Ernie said.

"Well don't." she said. Any hint of humor in her voice from before was gone.

"It's open." Ernie said. He knew the time for joking was done.

They went to it.

[5]

"We're behind the times." she said, as she developed the photos.

"We know, boss." Hannah said.

"In the five minutes I was enjoying that cake, a Muggle could have sent these pictures to literally all his friends on social media."

"And get their asses tracked by the government." Ernie stated, and he wasn't wrong either."

"I sometimes think we're regressing." she said.

"How so?" Hannah asked.

"I mean, that idiot proctor in the Department of Records. He was, what? 19 at the most? It really never occurred to him that I had a pocket camera on me."

"That's because wands can take pictures by themselves now." Hannah said. And they could: A Stillshot Charm. It was fairly new.

"Yeah." she said. "I watched Law and Order the other day. This kid was accusing some adult of abusing him or something like that. It was a guy with a history of doing that. The guy lured the kids in with TV or something like that. But then the cop asks the kid what kind of TV the guy had. The kid says, color, what other kind of TV would it be?"

Ernie and Hannah weren't getting it.

"Black and white." she said. "That's what kind. The kid didn't even know that kind of shit even existed. The complex machine becomes the simple answer, and the simpler machine becomes unknown. Soon the wands will doing everything by themselves."

Ernie and Hannah exchanged looks. They didn't know what to say to any of that, and that was just fine.

They kept working. She began to sing softly.

" _There was nothing in sight, but memories left abandoned."_

She put the first major section into its own stack.

" _There was nowhere to hide, the ashes fell like snow."_

She developed the second and did the same.

" _And the ground caved in between where we were standing."_

She remembered something. She walked over to the copy machine and fax, which were in the far corner. She turned them on and let them warm up.

" _And your voice was all I heard..."_ she trailed off, not knowing why.

[6]

Department of Records Officer Kenneth Simon Greengrass Summary Report:

" _Introduction: The purpose of this report is a cataloging of the ancestry of witches and wizards. This report is based on sources such as family trees, newspaper clippings, diaries, journals, and oral reports."_

Her father's report wasn't a book with the pages stuck to a binding. It was a three-loop binder, so that he could add more pages where he needed to. The total document clocked in at 400 pages. It had taken her six cameras and the better part of an hour to take photos of them all. A Stillshot Charm would've taken care of all of it in twenty minutes, probably less. She was extremely grateful that Ministry lackey hadn't been too committed on searching "Zolan's" robes. The hidden compartments were only hidden from the outside.

Her arms were killing her, too. She'd had to hold each camera up at the right distance.

Kenneth's report was categorized by family, with the Sacred Twenty-Eight before everyone else. Their sections began with family trees, as far back as the man could find. The words "Currently updated family tree of" proceeded the family's name.

Names were color-coded: Muggle-borns were red. Half-bloods were blue. Pure-bloods were green.

She looked through these only briefly. There wasn't anything of interest there. Nothing her father didn't already tell her. The Malfoy, Parkinson, Carrow, Weasley, Abbott and Longbottom families were all distantly related. That wasn't a surprise. As she thought, not a single one of the families was "pure" to begin with.

 _Date: 1970_

 _Finding: Yenna Gables, born in 1686, was Muggle-born. According to diary buried with her (at her own request), Yenna told her husband that her magical parents had died a decade before Yenna's marriage to Brutus Malfoy. Yenna's parents were Anthony and Kelly Gables, pig-farmers who lived 10 miles south of her residence._

 _Conclusion: Malfoy family is 80 percent magical, 20 percent Muggle._

 _Date: 1971_

 _Finding: Persia Parkinson, 1897. Half-blood._

 _Date: 1973_

 _Finding: Rufus Weasley, 1651. Muggle-born._

 _Date: 1974_

 _Finding: Maria Greengrass, 1598. Muggle-born._

She smiled at that one.

And so on and so on.

"It's like you were telling us, boss." Hannah said.

"No shit." she said shortly. "It also really doesn't matter."

"What do you mean?" Ernie asked.

"What difference does it make?" she asked. "Draco's been married to a Muggle-born for 10 years now and they have two kids. Pansy and Millicent are married to Weasleys. They never gave a shit about purity to begin with. Theo is married to a werewolf. Gargoyle and Crabmeat are dead."

"Oh." Ernie said.

But she went on: "My sister is gay and doesn't have any kids. And in my case, there isn't a man, woman, child, dog, cat, chicken or reptile on this entire planet who doesn't understand how I feel about blood supremacy."

Ernie started laughing...but then abruptly stopped when he saw the look on her face.

"I'm trying to think of a Slytherin my age who's married to a supposedly blood purity family _and_ still alive. I can't think of one."

"What was Voldemort?" she asked suddenly. "Pure or half?"

The question was so obvious, the two of them just stared at her. "Half-blood, of course. Everybody knows it."

"I know." she said. "That's the big cherry on top. Stalin was Georgian, not Russian. Hitler was Austrian, not German. And Tom Riddle, Mr. Blood Purity himself, had a Muggle father who probably never saw magic in his life. At least...not until his own son killed him."

She turned to them: "If Riddle Junior can lie about it, why can't anyone else? That's the question that lingers in people's minds whenever blood purity idiots start their song and dance nowadays. _Just how_ pure _are you really?_ "

"I get it." Hannah said.

"Then get this: The blood supremacy movement is done." she said. "It stomped around for a few centuries. Then we took its makeup off. Then we sodomized it. Then we beheaded it. We brought the body outside and put it on a pole. We raised it high, so that the whole world could see what we did to it.

"It's not dead." she said to the pair. "Ideas don't die. But it is done. There are some pure-blood parties all across Europe, but I did a headcount of those. All together, they don't even break a hundred. We see blood purity characters in cinema and literature but they're parodies. They're a complete joke and everyone knows it. Even _they_ know it."

"Okay, boss." Hannah said, "Then what is the point to getting this report?"

She showed them the final section of Kenneth's report:

 _"Muggle-born Emergence"_

[7]

 _It's worth noting that the use of the terms "pure-blood" and "half-blood" is not technically accurate. A wizard's blood has the same function as that of a Muggle, carrying nutrients and oxygen across the entire body. Magic doesn't come from the "blood" any more than an ability to play the piano._

 _I use the two terms for one simple reason: it's easy. It's ubiquitous. When someone says pure- or half-blooded, it is almost universally understood what that means._

 _What was less understood were Muggle-borns, wizards and witches born to Muggle parents. For the longest time, until the discovery of genetics, wizardfolk believed their magic was a gift from God. It was only given to specific families, who could pass the gift down to their descendants._

 _Passing the gift down with a Muggle partner was possible, but there was a chance that the offspring wouldn't have any notable magical abilities in spite of having the "gift." These individuals became known as Squibs. Many families took this to mean that Muggle-blood diluted the gift in some way or perhaps God didn't want them to have magic._

 _Likewise, there would be the case of the Muggle-borns. It was thought at the time that God would simply gift these people with magic simply because He wanted to._

 _Nowadays, it's understood that magic comes from genetics, passed on through DNA. In terms of inherited traits, there are dominant and recessive traits. Dominant traits mask recessive traits, which only have a_ chance _at being "revealed" when two mates have that same recessive trait._

 _Although the DNA information is not known, it is widely regarded that "magic" is a recessive trait. It explains why two Squibs, generations apart, will eventually have a descendant that can do magic._

 _These findings are based on the theory of evolution. The dominant scientific consensus is that homo sapiens first originated on the continent of Africa, meaning that every single human being is of African descent._

"Don't tell the Americans that." Ernie said.

"Shut up." she said...and kept reading.

 _All human beings have a common ancestor. We are all related, no matter how distantly._

 _Feats of magic and unexplained phenomenon have been recorded since mankind was capable to recording anything. It leads me to believe that "magic" was with us from the beginning or very close to it._

 _We all have magic inside of us. Not just pures and halfs and Muggle-borns. ALL of us._

 _For the longest time, I thought there was no way to make it dominant in all of us. That isn't the case. I have used magic on a confirmed Muggle, in anger...and I saw him use magic back at me._


	7. Brighter

Brighter

"Did I show you the letter Al had sent?"

"I don't think so."

"Here."

Rich, male laughter. "He got put in Slytherin?"

A girlish giggle. "You ass. Don't say it like that."

"Say it like what?"

"Like you're about to shit the bed from laughter."

"I was going to warn you. Give you time to evacuate."

"I'll evacuate my foot into your ass."

"I'd prefer your hand. Ouch!"

"You deserved it."

"Did not."

"Did too. You ever get beat by a woman before?"

"Not without paying for it. Ouch!"

"I'll do it for free."

"You're so abusive."

"I love you too."

A kiss on the cheek with an audible smack.

Silence for a while.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

"Nothing."

"You're crying."

"I'm sorry. I'm not sad. I don't look sad, do I?"

"No, you look relieved."

"I am."

"So am I."

Another kiss.

"You...don't hate my sister, do you?"

"No."

"And Ginny, you don't hate her either, right?"

"They aren't even dating anymore."

"I didn't ask that."

"It's been over 20 years since Ginny and I were together."

"I didn't ask that either."

"Okay. Fine. You win. No, I don't think I hate her."

"You don't think so?"

"I don't think so. I did say I would be her friend."

"Two decades later."

"Yup, exactly right. Except I won't lie to you. It wasn't time. They say it heals the wound, but with me and Ginny, that wasn't it."

"Then what was it?"

"It was you."

"That's sweet."

"No...it isn't."

"You're hurting my hand."

"Sorry."

"Why isn't it sweet?"

"Because it wasn't love for you that made me stop hating her."

"Then what was it?"

"It was winning."

"Winning what?"

"She left me and banged someone the very next day. And then she told me. I didn't know at the time that it was a woman. All I knew was that when I tried, she pushed me back. So the score was Ginny: 1; Me: 0."

"It's not a competition, sweetie."

"I tried dating after that. But I couldn't because Ginny and I were in the news. Women aren't interested in someone who throws a dark curse at their ex in anger."

"It was an accident."

"An accident. Yeah. But anyways, there was that, and there was me just not knowing how to do it. Dating always came easier to guys like Malfoy. But then you came along, and it was so easy talking to you. Maybe it was just because the law said we had to be together anyway. Or maybe because whoever assigned us actually knew it was he or she was doing. I don't know."

"Are you glad that you waited for me?"

"You sound a little afraid."

"Maybe I am."

"I wasn't waiting for you. I wasn't waiting for anyone. I was trying and failing. There's a difference."

"Okay."

"You're angry."

"I'm not angry."

"Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad."

"I've not given the full story."

"Then let me have it."

"I was trying and failing...and hated myself for it. I really did. I felt...like I was less of a man. But then I met you and it seemed like everything changed. My life did. My temper did. Everything seemed so much brighter. We got married and had kids and things got brighter still. I remembered when we first had our real talk, 20 years ago, in the kitchen. We were yelling and bitching at each other."

"Yes, we were."

"And I remembered thinking, _how?_ How is it supposed to be her? How is she the one? Did you think that too?"

"A little bit. I had a crush on Henry Ichiro. He died in the Hogwarts battle. Do you remember him?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"That's fine, sweetie. I remember thinking _Well, if it could be him, it wouldn't be too bad."_

"No, I guess not."

"I had a crush on you at the time too."

"Did you?"

"Yup."

A kiss.

"We got to know each other. And you were so _different._ You were good but not just good. You were _fiercely_ good."

A giggle.

"Don't laugh. I'm being serious."

"You're laughing too."

"I know. It's great. I spent time with you. We dueled a bit. We ate pizza. We dated. We had fun. And it's like the more time I spent with you, the more I got to know you, the more sense it made. Not just the Ministry's decision. It made sense for me to be with you. It made all the sense in the world. So I was okay. Everything in the past was just fine. Losing Cho Chang. Losing Ginny. Being a failure at every other dating attempt. Being a virgin until I met you. It was fine. It was all just fine...because I got to be with you."

A sniffle. "Thank you."

A kiss.

Silence for a while. Then:

"So, Al's a Slytherin. James is a Gryffindor and Delphi's a Hufflepuff. Do you want to shoot for a Ravenclaw? We'd get a medal for a kid in each house, I think."

"I'll shoot you."

Laughter.

"Do you want another kid, sweetie?"

"Hell no. I was just kidding."

More laughter.

"But it's nice, though; isn't it? Nobody can say we tried to section our kids into our own houses."

"According to Al, the Sorting Hat didn't hesitate at all."

"That's weird. I know he was worried about being sorted into my House."

"Yup, and we both told him not to be."

"Yeah, but all the same, I figured the Hat would have a dodgy time trying to sort him. He probably wanted to be with Scorpius Malfoy."

"My God, he loves that kid, doesn't he?"

"He said Scorpius was the brother he actually wanted."

"I don't like that."

"I don't like that either, sweetie."

"Do you...think he hates James? Like, _really_ hates him?"

"I don't know. Do you think James hates him?"

"I don't know. But I don't think so. I hope to God not. It's like with me and Dudley. We hated each other as kids. He was a spoiled asshole. But we get along great now. It's the same thing with auntie. She didn't hate magic. She never hated magic. She was angry because she couldn't have it. You're...hurting my hand."

"Oops! Sorry, sweetie."

"You all right?"

"Of course."

"Anyways, they'll grow out of it, I'm sure."

"I hope so."

"James flinched when you hugged him. What was that about?"

"He thinks he's grown. Too old to be getting hugs from his mother."

"Kids these days..."

"Careful. You'll start sounding like my grandfather."

"I hope I don't sound like _that_ much of an ass."

"Meh, only 40 percent."

"Ouch."

"I love you too."

A kiss.

"How's your left arm?"

"Better. That guy was an ass."

"Was he an Equalist?"

"Nope, just a common criminal. A jewel thief actually."

"Jewel thief? That's so late '90s."

"Tell me about it. The doctor at St. Mungo's healed me up quick. See? Good as new. Still some pain in it."

"Aw...poor little guy. Let me help."

"Yeah, that's not my arm. It's helping, though."


	8. Tactics

Tactics

Computer for fanfiction broke. At least the keys don't work anymore =(.

[1]

The kidnapper was in the interrogation room alone for 15 minutes before someone finally came in.

She knew what the score was. She'd read plenty of _Maddison,_ where the main character was a prosecutor with the MAC of New York. They had to do whatever it took to get under your skin, and this was one of the techniques. Leaving you alone. "Nothing was scarier" was something that people said when it came to horror movies. The deal was that your mind could scare you worse than anything on the outside. The dread of the monster showing up, what it would look like, that kind of thing was usually more frightening than whatever man-in-a-costume happened to show up at the end.

Of course, she wasn't really alone either. Even without all _Maddison_ comics _,_ it didn't take a genius to know that at least one of the walls was just a window with a charm cast over it. The pigs could look in but she couldn't look out. They were measuring her, sizing her up. She tried to look as nonchalant as possible.

The door finally opened, and it wasn't exactly a monster that came through. It was a woman in a black dress. Beside her was Carrot Top, one of the Aurors that had taken her in.

"Hey, Freckles." the kidnapper said. "How's Lightning Bolt?"

Freckles ignored her. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks, Ron."

"That's okay." The kidnapper said. "He's in the closet with the rest of your boyfriends. You'll be in there with him in about five minutes."

Freckles didn't respond to that. He just went out the door.

It closed, and Black Dress turned to face her.

"Holy shit." the kidnapper said. "Someone did a number on your face."

"I wouldn't be talking shit to the _one_ person on your side right now." Black Dress said.

 _You aren't on my side,_ she thought, but said nothing.

The lawyer sat down. Her left eye was yellow.

"My name is Lavender Nott." the lawyer said. "I've been assigned as your defense for the time being as per Section 1.3 of the Ministry of Magic Fundamental Legal Parameters. And you're in deep shit."

"How bad is it?"

Nott didn't answer right away. She opened up her thick folder and took out a piece of paper. She read: "Suspect is Alisha Corse. Corse is 25 years old. She has dark blue eyes and blonde hair. Corse was born in the state of Michigan, attended school at Wyvern Hall. There, she received only two F.R.O.G.S. and one C.A.T."

"I don't like studying." Alisha said.

"Corse was subject to many disciplinary actions for her behavior at Wyvern. Twelve suspensions and at least 40 detentions. Two of those suspensions were due to possession of drugs."

"They planted that Red Ice." Alisha protested.

"Course they did." Nott said dryly, but kept reading: "The other suspensions were due to Corse's use of jinxes, hexes, and curses on fellow students. Alderson Wainwright, stinging jinx. Rosa Somme, stunning charm that knocked her unconscious for 24 hours, which had her unresponsive to any attempts to revive for 24 hours. Jeff Collins, convulsing hex. Terrance Goldwater, Body-Bind Curse."

Nott looked up from the paper. "Did law enforcement plant those victims too?"

Alisha didn't answer.

"And the list keeps on going."

"What's your point?"

Nott rubbed her temples. "The point is that you have a history of violence and aggression. Judges tend to notice that kind of thing."

"Are they going to try me here or back at home?"

"Here." Nott said. "You're from the US and so were those people in that secret basement. But other than the kidnapping itself, everything you did to them was here in Britain. You attacked our Aurors too. And don't try and tell me you were startled and a spell just came flying out of your wand. You fired at the Aurors multiple times, and you weren't exactly apologetic when you woke up."

"What if I told you that it wasn't my idea?"

"It wasn't your idea?"

"No."

Nott rubbed her forehead, obviously not buying it, but she played along anyways.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean I didn't want to be involved in the kidnapping."

What she was about to do was low, but it couldn't be helped. She didn't like most of those losers anyway.

"So you're saying you were forced into it in some way?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying."

"Who forced you into it?" Nott asked.

"Dante Johnson." Alisha said.

"The guy you were talking about when you walked up the stairs?"

"Yeah. I was friends with them." Alisha said. "I won't say I wasn't. I didn't know what kind of shit they were into until it was too late. They said they would kill me if I didn't cooperate."

"Funny." Nott said. "I have a hard time believing any of that. The four people in the basement were pretty clear that _you_ were the one giving them orders, running tests on them, that kind of thing. You didn't seem too bothered with that. In fact, all of them say that they saw you _smiling_ most of the time. That's not the kind of behavior I would expect to see if the others were putting a wand to your head the whole time."

Alisha said nothing.

"Your school file alone would make it hard to believe. You've been in too many fights. So nobody is going to believe that you're afraid of one."

Alisha's jaw clenched.

"Another issue: Why would they pick you? You aren't the only woman in the world with a piss-poor attitude. Dragging you along would mean they would have to watch you all the time too. They certainly wouldn't let you keep your wand. They certainly wouldn't leave you alone in the warehouse by yourself."

Nott pulled out another piece of paper from the folder. "That brings me to my next issue. Why did you guys have those Muggles there in the first place? You don't have to answer that. The MAC went through your diary entries that you left in you room. You didn't even bother burning them."

Nott started reading one of the entries:

 _"_ _She was here. The Witness was here in Indiana. She's supposed to be headquartered somewhere in Europe. People say Britain, but I'm not sure about that. She has the accent for it, though. Britain just seems too tight and condensed, with not much room to move around and hide. But that doesn't matter. The rally…there's almost no way to describe it. I've been pissed off for so long about the whole thing. Gloria is the sweetest little angel that any sister could ask for but she just can't do magic like I can. Sometimes she's okay with it, but sometimes it makes her cry. It just breaks my damn heart."_

Lavender said. "There's more entries, detailing why you attacked some of those students. Jeff Collins was because he made derogatory remarks about the No-Majs."

"There's no such thing as a No-Maj." Alisha said softly.

"I don't care if there is or isn't." Nott answered coldly. "I'm not a scientist."

"Isn't there some kind of way you could…" Alisha reached desperately. "Get all that dismissed?"

"No, because when the MAC agents searched your house in the US, they had a warrant. The Aurors didn't need a warrant for the abandoned warehouse because it was abandoned."

"We can tell them that I was abused, beaten down so that I'd follow their orders no matter what." Alisha said. She was sputtering complete bull and she knew it. "We could say they raped me and—"

Lavender Nott exploded with laughter. It disturbed Alisha into silence.

"Oh, they did?! Really?! And I'm sure you have abrasions down south, then; right? Tooth marks on your body? Claw marks? How about skin and blood under your fingernails when you tried to fight back?"

"I have some of those." Alisha said weakly. "From Dante."

"Brilliant! How about increased anxiety, depression, and posttraumatic stress disorder? Did you tell any of the kidnapping victims that it happened? Did you tell _anyone_ that it happened?"

Alisha felt like crying.

"If any of that was true, then why attack the Aurors? Since you 'Didn't want to be there' (Nott did that with air quotes), the Aurors would be rescuing both you _and_ the victims."

When Alisha didn't respond, Nott pulled out another sheet of paper. "How about this?"

She slid it over. It was photos of her with Dante. Some of the photos weren't worth describing, but they did make her turn away, her face burning.

"Those are copies of the Stillshot Charms found on both your wands; and once again, you're _smiling_. Some of those are dated a few days before the raid on the warehouse… _but_ those guys were raping you the whole time. True story."

Alisha was feeling the walls close in all around her. "Well, what the hell else can we do?" she said. "We got to think of something!"

"We?" Nott asked. "What's this _we_ shit?"

"I thought you were supposed to be my defense!" Alisha yelled. And damn it, here came the tears. Her heart was pounding.

"I _am_ your defense." Nott said evenly. "That's why I'm telling you _right_ _now_ that it's not going to work instead of letting you get bitch-slapped on the stand in front of fifty people."

Nott pointed to the thick folder, with all of Alisha's deeds on it. " _This_ is what we're up against, Alisha. Prosecutor Patil, has all this already. She's the one who _gave_ it to me. You asked me a minute ago, how bad this all is; right? Well, here's the list."

She pulled out yet another sheet of paper. Alisha wanted to grab the folder and tear it to shreds.

"Kidnapping is off the table right now, thankfully. That still leaves us with the following. Nine counts of assault on law enforcement; firing spells at a group of Aurors. One count of battery; hitting Rankin with a curse. Four counts of false imprisonment. Conspiracy. Two additional counts of assault and battery."

For Alisha, it felt like there was a giant tumor in her throat. "What? For what?!"

"Two of the kidnapping victims are alleging you slapped them across the face when one of your tests didn't go well. The other two corroborated the allegations."

"Bullshit!" Alisha cried. "I never touched them!"

"I believe you." Nott said. It seemed like she was telling the truth when she said this. "But I don't know if the judges will."

"So let me guess." Alisha said, sniffling. "You want me to take a plea bargain; right?"

Nott sighed.

"That's what all this is for; right?" Alisha hissed. "I give up some names of some higher-ups and I get a reduced sentence? That about the size of it?"

"Fitted and tailored." Nott said. "I'm not going to put a wand to your head and force you to take a plea, Alisha. We can _try_ things your way. I can stand up in front of the Wizengamot and tell them you were forced into it. And then we'll get to watch Patil bring up every single thing in this folder. Your history of violence, your affiliation with the Equalists, the photos with you and Dante. The _only_ thing I have is that you say you've got some physical damage on you. I can have a physical done on you and maybe prove some of that, but then Patil will just say that you two liked it rough. The selfies you took will sink my argument _alone_."

Nott leaned in close.

"Alisha, once we sit down in that courtroom…I have _no_ control. If we lose, the sentencing is _completely_ up to the judges. The Wizengamot often sides with the Ministry of Magic. This decade is no exception. Right now, it's being run by Hermione Granger. As everybody knows, she's Muggle-born. She's been one of the most progressive Ministers in recent history. But she's _not_ an Equalist. She doesn't like that you guys are anti-pure to the point where you attack them on the street. She doesn't like the riots or the bombings or the kidnappings. The Wizengamot are going to make an example of you and your friends. My guess is anywhere from 10 to 20 years."

"20 years?!" Alisha screamed. Her guess had been five. She might not see sunshine again until she was well into her _forties._ A third of her life, gone just like that. Her hands reflexively went to her throat, like she was being strangled.

 _Maybe I am,_ she thought.

"Be thankful that kidnapping is off the table here. Four charges, two of them minors. That's another 15."

Alisha thought she would black out at any moment.

"We can you get out of it, Alisha." Nott said.

That brought her back a little bit.

"I might even be able to give some slack to your friends as well. Dante too. He won't even know that you tried to throw him under the bus."

Alisha's eyes were wide and trembling. She looked like a child.

[2]

Lavender exited the room, went to the prosecutor's office, saying hello to some Aurors on the way there.

Prosecutor Patil sat in her office, going over the details of another case with Harry.

"Later, Harry."

"Later, Parvati."

Harry left.

Lavender sat down in front of her. Parvati checked her watch, then rolled her eyes and sighed. "Ten minutes. You suck."

"And you swallow. Pay up."

Parvati handed her the Deluxe Chocolate Frog from her shelf. Lavender ate it immediately. Her teeth always seemed to sharpen when she ate something, and this was no exception. Parvati stared, not liking the way her heart started beating a little bit faster.

"Glad to see you're not wasting any time chewing."

"Maybe you should stop staring at my mouth. You're 44, Patil. Get it from Harry's sister-in-law if you want it so bad."

"You can't call me Parvati? Even now?"

"We both know the answer to that."

It hurt but it wasn't a surprise. The prosecutor sighed and changed the subject.

"She broke that quickly? She seemed like a fighter on the way in."

"She's a child, just like we were." Lavender said.

"A child hanging out with a bunch of criminals."

"Too right. She thought she was a Harry when she was really a Draco. You give them just a tiny bit of choke, they always pop."

"What do you want, Lav?"

"Four years."

"She attacked nine Aurors."

"Yeah, but one of them was Ron."

Parvati snickered. "Maybe we'll give her just one year. Padma would like that."

They both laughed. It was nice to clear the tense, unpleasant air between them, if only a little bit.

"So then what do we get?"

"She gave up a few Equalist locations in the US, places where they've had rallies. Four of them, we already knew about, but there's three that we didn't. Corse also thinks there's a base in Ireland. She doesn't know it for sure, though. She also said her friend with benefits knows another place where the Equalists are running tests on Muggles. I'll be talking to him in ten minutes."

"Anything else?" Parvati asked.

"Yeah."

Lavender stood up. She fished a folded piece of paper out of her purse, put it on Parvati's desk.

"I wasn't kidding about before." Lavender said. "She's been asking about you."

She left.

Parvati opened it. It was a letter from Daphne.

[3]

The next week.

Another raid. More close combat. Another capture.

In the abandoned house, they found a house _filled_ with wands. And they found the guy that had been living in agony since three months ago.


End file.
